


Absence

by SandfireKat



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crime, Drama, Drug Use, F/M, Family, Flashbacks, Found Family, Friendship, Gore, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Hospitalization, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Language, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Romance, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse (not detailed), Shock, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Tragedy, Trauma, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2020-12-28 04:03:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 289,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21130454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandfireKat/pseuds/SandfireKat
Summary: It had been staring them in the face, the entire time. They should have known. Which meant it was their fault.Which meant everything that happened after was their fault, too.They have to get him back. They have to save him. Before it's too late.But even when they do, maybe it's not enough.Maybe, even when they get him back...it's not him, anymore.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a longer, much more in-depth fic for this fandom. I have soooo much planned for this fic, you all have no idea. It came up as a result of a (very long) conversation with my friend wewriteletters; I tweaked it and modified it and now I'm seeing if it'll be as well-received as I'm hoping it'll be! I have so much in store. This chapter and next chapter are actually just setting up the story, once we hit chapter three, all bets are off. I just hope you all like it enough! :'D  
Please watch the tags! They are subject to change/to be added to! I put as much as I could think of in the moment but with every chapter update I'm sure they'll be rearranged. For now, there's no need for a bold warning. I'll be debating on whether or not that'll change as well.
> 
> But yeah! I really hope you guys like it, I can't wait to hear from you if you did. I have so much planned and I'm actually kind of excited! Thank you for reading! <3 Also, I'm awful at summaries so if you've made it this far, good on you.  
Also! If you like my writing, I post other smaller bits of writing and I take prompts on my tumblr blog prodigalsonheadcanons! <3

Their days usually ran like clockwork. They started early in the day, all of them dreary and not quite there yet, staring off into space wondering when their coffee would kick in so they _would_ be prepared to actually see what the day held for them. After said coffee _did_ finally kick in, they would see what New York City had to offer them in terms of the sinister and vile that were hidden in plain sight. They would visit a scene, and if Malcolm was not already waiting there with a pleasant smile on his face serving a stark contrast to the gory scene that typically surrounded him, then he was always close on their tail and arriving just a hair shy of fashionably late.

They would look at the scene and get the rest of the details. They would piece it apart bit by bit. Bright would shed light on something they’d missed or overlooked, and Edrisa would always be the first – and likely _only _– person to _actually_ admit that what he’d said was genius. Which, was a testament to the reason he was there in the _first place. _They would handle whatever mess it was that had plopped itself in their laps. They would talk to witnesses and to suspects, and there would likely be a scrape or two along the way before they eventually found their resolution. With this group in particular, it was always guaranteed that _something _was going to go wrong before they reached their end goal. It was never a surprise. It was more along the lines of ‘What took you so long?’

Regardless, they would wrap up the case. Sometimes the ending was sadder than they’d like to admit. But they weren’t in the business of making happy endings— they were just in the business of finding an ending _eventually. _And they always did, one way or another. The fine details were always different, but _they_ never were. They were a team. It had taken a while to get the ball rolling, but now that they’d found their footing, they were taking off. They knew each other— their quirks and their strengths and their weaknesses. They were friends. The kind of friends were it was an unspoken fondness. The kind of friendship where they might not even really _notice,_ until someone asked them point-blank, and they had no choice but to stop short and say: “…I guess I _do _care about them.”

It was little steps, that worked together to accumulate into something bigger. Little steps like forming the tradition of going out together after cases, to celebrate a job well done. Then getting together for reasons entirely unrelated to work. Dani and Malcolm began to text because they _wanted _to, not because they _had _to. Edrisa stumbled over herself just a little bit less, but her nervousness was something the group was used to as well, and had embraced. Just like there was an unspoken understanding that when they went out to eat, Malcolm wouldn’t order much, if anything. That when he showed up to work with bags under his eyes that were darker than normal, with an expression that was more drawn or more strained, that they weren’t to comment on that, either.

It was a slow process.

But what process _wasn’t? _That was worth it, anyway.

Their routine was well-established, and by now it was second nature. So much so, that they didn’t even need to glance over their shoulder and see who it was that was approaching them as they stood in the midst of the crime scene. All it took was the sound of his footsteps, and they recognized the newcomer. “She was just found by a couple out on their morning run,” Gil explained. Malcolm would have frowned at the mental image, if he hadn’t already looked sick at the image that was already in front of him.

The body was horribly mutilated. He imagined if you found her parents, if you found her closest friend, her boyfriend, her fiancé, someone that knew her inside and out, not a single one of them would be able to identify her. To say the sight was sickening was an _overwhelming_ understatement. There was hardly an inch of skin that had been left unmarred. From head to toe, she was a gory mess of injuries. The areas of her skin that weren’t cut open were bruised or swollen, or burnt— second, even third-degree burns. Her left cheek had been cut away; you could clearly see into her mouth, and see her teeth. The ones that were left, anyway. Her palm was facing the sky, despite the fact her arm was not. Her ankle was broken as well, to a lesser degree but obviously noticeable.

“Hope they had breakfast first,” JT grumbled under his breath.

Anyone else’s instinct might have been to immediately turn away from the sight. To get _sick, _even. But Malcolm’s eyes were immediately scouring every inch of her; he was drinking in every detail he could, slowly walking closer and bending lower to get a better look. His expression was heavy, and only growing heavier the more he saw. When he saw that beneath the fresher injuries, there were just more ugly, horrible scars. “There’s nothing here but suffering…” he murmured, talking mostly to himself, though he knew he had a rapt audience. “Extensive scarring…_old _scarring…whoever did this to her, they’d been hurting her for a long time. On average, it takes six to eight weeks for injured tissue to remodel fully. But…I would say these are definitely older than that…”

“Her gums are healed, where her teeth were pulled,” Edrisa chimed in. “If we’re assuming she wasn’t already missing them. Which…I am.” By the time she was through speaking, her voice was more of a mumble. JT eyed her, but said nothing. “She’s extremely malnourished, too…her hair and nails are brittle, and you can see all the bony prominences,” she tacked on.

That frown was back on his face— saddened and pained but thoughtful, too. “This person was obviously more interested in the torture aspect…the murder was a lower priority…if it was _even _a priority in the first place.” He crouched low, his eyes narrowing as he leaned down close to look at both wrists. Then he shifted over to look at both ankles. He had to focus in order to make it out. His voice still stayed that thoughtful mumble. “She doesn’t have as much scarring or injury, here…she wasn’t restrained recently.” He pulled back more. “Which…means she couldn’t even fight back.” He glanced at her stomach, and the ribs he could plainly see, underneath her torn and tattered shirt. “She was so starved and injured, she had no choice but to endure it all.”

“That kind of weight loss…” Dani didn’t need to finish the thought. They all knew.

Malcolm stood back up. He glanced at Gil. “I guess you don’t know who this is?”

“Not yet. But we’re working on it,” he replied. “We’ve got people rooting through the latest missing persons cases, too, trying to see if they can’t narrow down a selection.” It was awfully hard to do, given her disfigurement. But eye and hair color could go pretty far, when it was all you had.

He looked back at their victim again. If anyone ever qualified for the title of being a victim, it was her. He tore his gaze away and looked instead at their surroundings. “This is where the body was found?” he asked, uselessly, because he already knew that it was. Gil nodded, waiting for what he knew was going to come. Malcolm looked to the side, at the trail that was winding not twenty yards away. He looked back at the body. “She was exactly like this? Nothing was moved?"

"What’s it mean, Bright?” Gil just prompted, skipping over all the steps it would take to get to the explanation.

Malcolm hesitated, like he was making sure of it himself. He inhaled sharply, and shook his head. “This _meant_ something,” he declared. “Our killer was _more _than capable. To keep a person hidden like this for months on end, _while _torturing them and to not have a single bit of suspicion placed on you— that’s impressive. Or— you know what I mean,” he rushed to add, when Dani shot him a look. “They accomplished _all _of this— if they could do that much, disposing of a body without being caught should have been just as simple. But…they just left her out in the open. On the side of a trail that’s always populated, especially during this time of year, when it’s starting to get warmer.” He shook his head. “He _wanted _her to be found. He wanted people to see.”

“Why, though?” Dani asked. “Just…to scare people?”

Malcolm shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so…” He was looking at all the old injuries that riddled her body, along with the fresher ones. “It’s a possibility, but…it doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t seem like it’s…_enough.” _It was on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t quite land it. It was just out of grasp; he was left reaching out for absolutely nothing. The look on his face was telling enough for the rest of them. Dani crossed her arms and sighed, and JT left to go speak to another officer.

Gil paced forward so he was at Malcolm’s side. No ideas?” he asked.

Malcolm didn’t reply. But his answer was clearly seen in the troubled, puzzled way he was staring at their Jane Doe.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“Kaelyn Foster.” The three looked up as Gil strode into the room with the announcement. Immediately, they were all perking. He set the file down in front of them and they wasted no time before opening it and looking inside. Sure enough, this girl had the same red hair. Her body shape seemed to fit, though it was difficult to tell when she didn’t have all those horrible injuries, and when her weight was actually _appropriate_. But it was their girl. “Twenty-six; she was a bartender.”

“Family?” Dani asked, before Malcolm got the chance to.

Gil shook his head. “She grew up in foster care. Her parents were abusive drug addicts. When she was seven years old she was put into the system.” Malcolm’s eyes flashed. “She was passed from household to household until she turned eighteen. No college.” Malcolm stared at him, still waiting. Sure enough, Gil went on. “The only run-in with the law she’s had was in 2012. She called 911 late one night; her boyfriend had come home drunk and started beating her. She locked herself in the bathroom and called for help— apparently he’d been abusing her for years, and she just never had the courage to say anything.”

Dani’s expression was growing more and more solemn. “What happened to the boyfriend?” It was the most immediate assumption, to pin the crime on him. It was pretty much everyone’s knee-jerk reaction.

But Gil was quick to shake his head, having already had the thought himself. “Apparently, he’d thought he’d graduate to murder, a while back. He’s been incarcerated since 2015; he’s still got twenty more years to go.” Dani made a face, looking back down at the file.

“Her boyfriend was abusive?” Malcolm asked. Everyone looked at him. _“And_ her parents?”

“I guess she has a type,” JT offered, just a little untastefully. This earned him a look from Dani.

But Malcolm wasn’t eyeing him. In fact, he was doing the opposite— he was agreeing. “She _does…” _Dani looked at _Malcolm,_ now. With him, it was much less sharp. She looked confused. Malcolm just got up and walked towards the board, where they’d already pinned up all the photos of the body— of Kaelyn. “People who are exposed to abuse and neglect from a young age tend to gravitate towards it later in life without even realizing it…”

“You think this was from another abusive relationship?” Dani asked, doubt layering her voice.

He clasped his hand behind his back, looking at everything they had. Still, he could feel that _one thing _taunting him. He knew there was _something, _and it was _just _out of reach. Frustration was beginning to itch under his skin— he did his best to push it down, knowing that it would only make it harder to think clearly. No, he didn’t think that. This wasn’t that simple— this was something else entirely. It was a different level. He was sure of it. It was methodical, careful…inhumane. And she clearly showed enough self-awareness to know when things had gone far enough, given that she’d called the police.

Something…there was _something._

Just out of reach. Something he wasn’t thinking about.

“Who could we start looking at?” Dani asked slowly, once she realized Malcolm was too deep in thought to say anything himself. “Someone…that knew her, and…wanted to make a point, like Bright said?”

“We could track the parents down,” JT offered. “It’s a start.”

“It’s a start,” Gil echoed eventually.

The other two nodded. Malcolm stayed staring at the board.

“Bright.” He perked. Turned to Gil. The man raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Right,” Malcolm agreed. He turned back to the board, looking at it from top to bottom. His voice was softer when he murmured under his breath: “It’s a start…”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

They all cheered, raising their glasses and clinking them together, to toast another case well-wrapped. Dani was grinning from ear to ear— even JT managed to look happy. He was saying something to Edrisa which was getting her laughing. Dani’s eyes caught on Malcolm, and she perked a little. A frown worried her features. He had been the only one not to toast; now, he was sitting with his shoulders slightly hunched, resting on his arms and ducking his head as if he was trying to memorize the look of the table. She leaned to the side, loud enough so she could talk to him over the music that was playing, and soft enough so hopefully, nobody else would overhear.

“Bright?” He didn’t react at first. She leaned even closer. “Bright.” He looked at her, blinking rapidly. He looked surprised. She titled her head a little. “What’s up You aren’t happy?” They’d just solved a murder of a very highly-respected philanthropist. He wasn’t one to _jump up and down for joy_, but she at least expected him to look satisfied.

He offered her a smile, but it was flimsy. It was too weak to be real. “Of course I am.”

She was skeptical. “You don’t seem like it.” His smile dropped. He didn’t actually reply, but he did shrug one shoulder. She softened a little, with sympathy. “It’s okay, Bright…” He made a face, leaning even more on his arms. She’d figured he wouldn’t take kindly to any of her efforts of comfort. She was trying, anyway. “Sometimes you don’t get all of them. It’s sad, but…it _happens. _And we’re not giving up on the investigation…we’re just…putting it on the back burner until new evidence shows up.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She offered him a smile. Hers was much stronger than the one he’d tried to give her. “We’ll figure it out, eventually.”

He just returned a noncommittal: “Sure.”

She hesitated, before she looked at him in a way that demanded he meet her gaze. Her expression was reassuring. “And…you know it’s not just on _you, _right?” He didn’t answer right away. She shook her head. “It’s on _all_ of us. Kaelyn Foster isn’t resting _just_ on you. Okay?” It took a second for it to sink in. Once it did, she could see him change. She saw him warm, and the edge of his lips twitch up into the tiniest of grins. She made up for this by smiling wide enough for the both of them.

Without thinking, she reached out and put her hand comfortingly on his shoulder. Lightly. He didn’t shrug her off, and when she insisted: “It’s going to be okay,” he didn’t scoff at her, either.

He just smiled a little more.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The second Gil answered the phone, he was yelling. He didn’t even have time to say _hi, _and Malcolm was taking off. Which might have been alright, if it wasn’t _three in the morning. _Granted, Gil was close to Malcolm, so he, unfortunately, was not a stranger to these types of calls. He’d just hoped that the lack of any _recent_ screams at three in the morning meant that the habit had been kicked. Yet here he was, being disappointed. Again. Hoping was really on him, though— he should have known better.

_“Gil!” _

He cringed, twisting his head just enough to see the clock. When he saw the time looking back at him, he closed his eyes and took in a slow breath, praying to whatever higher being that existed to give him the patience it took to deal with Malcolm Bright. “Malcolm…why are you calling me at three in the morning?” he exhaled. He reached up to rub at his eyes, before he added in more of a grumble: “For your sake, I hope you’re dead over there.”

Malcolm decided to bypass the threat against his life, as he’d heard it before. “Why didn’t you call me about Bennett Rogers!?”

It took him a while. He made a face. “The…_why_ would I call you about that? It’s just a—”

“Just a missing person case?” Malcolm finished for him, his voice sharp.

“You’re a consult for _murders, _Bright,” he sighed, letting his eyes close again. His lips were hardly moving, he was so tired. He was going to fall back asleep still holding the phone. “And it’s not even a big concern right now— he hasn’t been missing for that long…they’re just overly protective—”

“Because he’s gone missing before,” Malcolm snapped, just as hotly.

Gil let his arm fall back onto the bed. _“Why_ are you _this awake_ at three in the morning?”

“Bennett Rogers was kidnapped when he was ten— he was found when he was thirteen,” Malcolm said, instead of actually answering. “Wilson Myers kept him in his basement and subjected him to abuse relentlessly_, _for _three years.” _

“I know the case, Bright,” he sighs. “He’s barely been ‘missing’ for 72 hours, he’s twenty-two now— think of all the potentially-concerning things _you _were doing when you were twenty-two. You’re responsible for each and every one of my gray hairs…”

“He’s gone missing…_just_ like Kaelyn Foster had.” Gil opened his eyes again. He sobered a little. Malcolm must have sensed the difference. He spoke slower, and more purposefully. “I’ve been _struggling_ to figure out what made Kaelyn Foster the target of such a horrible crime, _why _would someone attack a seemingly-innocent person, who’s never appeared to mind anyone but herself? What makes _her _a target, when everything else checked out? If the killer is trying to make a point, _what is he trying to make a point about?” _He waited for a second, like he was giving Gil the opportunity to suddenly reach the conclusion himself, and join in the conversation. But he stayed silent. So Malcolm finished for him. “It’s her _past.”_

“Her past?” he repeats dumbly.

“It’s tragic,” he states. “Abused as a young girl, tossed from house to house in the foster system— years of abuse by the hands of someone she thought loved her— it’s all there. Her past was tragic, it was _hard. _It finally clicked, once I heard about Bennett.”

Gil sat up slowly. He was holding the phone tighter. “You think they’re connected?”

“Kaelyn Foster went missing. She wasn’t found, and shows up months later in a wide-open space, for anyone to see. A little over a month goes by of nothing, and then someone _else_ goes missing? Someone with a similarly-horrible past?” He stares straight ahead, listening intently, fully awake now. There was a pit opening up in his stomach as Malcolm, once again, spelled it all out. “Bennett suffered for years and came out of a horrible situation to move on with his life _just _like Kaelyn. It’s just a hunch at this point…but…”

Gil held the phone even closer to his ear. “But what?”

“But…I _really_ think I should be brought into the case.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Malcolm had a foul taste in his mouth. Not because of what he was staring at. Not _exactly._

The body was in pieces, in a misshapen pile on the ground. One of the arms was twisted into what was almost a sickening knot. The eyes had been gouged out. Not _recently,_ either. He was staring at something horrifying and grotesque, but all he felt was hollow disappointment. He’d failed. He’d _known _what would eventually come, yet he hadn’t been able to stop it. Now he was staring at the second victim.

Edrisa stood beside him. She looked upset, but when she turned and saw the look that was on Malcolm’s face, she straightened. “Hey…” He glanced at her. She weakened. “Think of it this way…” Though her voice remained weak, she fought to try and make herself sound much more optimistic than she really felt. “Now you know your theory is right.”

He just shook his head once. He didn’t reply. He couldn’t bring himself to.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He stood between JT and Dani, wracking his brain.

_Nothing…how _in the _world _could there be _nothing?_ At _all? _

They all heard the door open at the same time. At the same time, they all turned.

Gil was standing in the doorway, a heavy expression on his face.

Already warning them of what they were dreading.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“How are you holding up?”

Malcolm had been staring at the board with a blank look in his eyes. The kind of staring where you were looking intently at something, but at the same time you weren’t actually _seeing _it. He didn’t _need _to look at it. By this point, he had every detail of it memorized. All the photos and theories and connections— he could still see them even if he closed his eyes. So when he heard her voice he jerked a little, jarred out of the thoughts that had been swirling around in his head.

Dani was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and her expression bordering on sympathy. “You know…standing there all night isn’t going to accomplish anything.” It was almost nine. He’d probably been standing there for nearly an hour straight, hardly moving. The ache in his muscles, which he actually noticed now that he was paying attention, was a testament to the fact. He grimaced a bit, and shook his leg out a little bit. But all he did was turn back to the board. Dani hesitated, before she started over.

She stopped to stand beside him and for a while, the two of them stood together, silently observing the evidence that was piling up. The third victim had been a forty-nine-year-old man. Marvin Thompson. A war veteran. It hadn’t been long at all since they’d found Bennett. Less than a month. At least with Bennet, there was just a little more than a month between him and Kaelyn. This one hadn’t taken as long.

For the past hour, the thought had paced relentlessly back and forth. Back and forth.

_This one hadn’t taken that long. Taken that long. Taken that long. Taken that long._

“Bright.” When he looked at her, her sympathy was a bit more overt. Her voice was gentle, but it was firm as well. “You need to take a break from all of this.” She already knew he was going to object, and she saw the look on his face that signaled her hunch about his stubbornness was right. So she was going on, before he had the chance to even try. “You’re going to drive yourself crazy, and I haven’t seen you eat a single thing all day.”

He grimaced and sighed. “I’m _really_ not hungry…”

She was prepared for that, too. “Well, then you can come with me to a restaurant and just watch _me, _eat, then.” He shot her an exasperated look. Her only response was to add a snider: “Plus, Gil went home thirty minutes ago— he tried to tell you but you didn’t even turn around. _So_. I am now _officially_ your ride home. You kind of don’t have a choice. Unless you wanna walk.” His exasperation lingered for a second more. But when she smirked at him, he found that he couldn’t keep hold of the frustration for very long. It slipped away, and he found himself cracking a smile. That just grew more, when he saw Dani’s.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“Why snakes, though?” Dani asked. “I’ve heard of ‘a boy and his dog’ but I’ve never heard of ‘a boy and his snakes.’” She popped another fry into her mouth as she leaned back in her chair. The dinner was mostly over. She was almost through with her plate. Malcolm had ordered something small and had only pecked at it. He’d started out stiff and distracted, but now he was actually talking more; he was even cracking smiles. He smiled again, with this comment. It spurred her on. Laughter bubbled up underneath her voice when she pressed: “I’ve never _actually _met someone that had a snake when they were little. Much less snake_s_. As in more than one.”

“Ah. Well— I _hate_ to break it to you this way, Dani,” he said, feigning remorse. “But, contrary to popular belief…I actually _didn’t _have that normal a childhood.”

She faked dramatic surprise. “Really?” He laughed, ducking his head a little and shaking it. _“No. _You? Not having a normal childhood? You’ve gotta be pulling my leg.”

“I’m afraid not; it’s a lesser-known fact about me.”

She laughed again. Ate another fry as she offered around her mouthful: “Y’know, people don’t give you enough credit; you can actually be a little funny when you put your mind to it.”

“I’d imagine if a person were to have my life, they’d _need _a sense of humor,” he scoffs, which makes her laugh again. He sits up a little more, his eyebrows knitting together. “Who implied I wasn’t funny?” he demanded. She just laughs and rolls her eyes, the waitress coming over before she could answer. She made a move like she was going to get out her wallet, but Malcolm was already handing the woman his card before she could even reach her pocket. He didn’t even glance at the price.

She shot him a look, as the waitress turned and went back to ring them up. “You didn’t have to pay— it was _my _idea to come out here; you barely even had anything to eat.”

He waved her off. “It’s fine. It’s nothing.” She eyed him skeptically. He sobered more, before he cleared his throat and said a little quieter: “Besides, it was…nice. To…get away from everything. For a second.” She perked. Her only-halfway-accusatory look was dropping. Her own expression was growing more solemn. He noticed the fact, but he just smiled at her. A sincere, genuine smile. His voice was genuine as well, when he added: “Thanks. For…dragging me out here.”

She softened. Her smile grew much warmer. “Anytime.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“She’s cute.” Dani peered through the bars of the birdcage at the tiny parakeet that was inside. She was up on her perch and apparently very interested in the newcomer that was now surveying her. She was surveying Dani right back, her wings twitching and her head titling as she hopped a little from side to side. Her tweets were tiny and soft, but they were constant, like she was trying to engage in conversation.

“You can hold her. If you want,” Malcolm was putting his leftover food in the fridge. Dani had refused to leave the restaurant until he’d boxed it up, and he’d finally given in after a while. Though the both of them were fairly certain on the fact that it was a pointless venture— he wasn’t likely to touch it at all. Usually with food, for him it was out of sight and out of mind. He preferred it that way. But he _also_ preferred not still sitting in a restaurant filled with people until two in the morning, so he’d pacified her. He put the box up on the top shelf and shut the door. He started back over to her, nodding to his bird. “She usually doesn’t bite…even when she does, you don’t feel it. But she likes attention, if you want to…”

Dani opened the door and reached in tentatively. Sure enough, Sunshine hopped onto her finger, fluttering her wings and twittering louder. Dani was careful as she brought her out. The little bird was moving her head up and down fast, like she was trying to bounce. Her wings keep flapping, and Dani stifled a laugh. “She _does _like attention.”

Malcolm leaned back against the kitchen island, his expression uncharacteristically soft as he looked at the bird. It surprised her, when she noticed it. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him look the way he did when he looked at Sunshine. At least, not as openly. “Yeah— we complement each other that way,” he jokes, and it gets Dani to laugh a little. “She doesn’t usually see company, either. She’s probably ecstatic to have someone other than me around.”

This wasn’t said as jokingly.

It took away Dani’s smile.

When he caught her eyes, he didn’t look away. The air got heavy with tension. Only briefly. Before Dani took in a quick breath, blinking rapidly before she looked back down at Sunshine. “You don’t give yourself enough credit,” she says, being careful to make her voice the exact amount of lightness she knew would get her point across but not put him down. It was a careful balance. But she was perfecting it, over time. “I’m sure she thinks you’re just fine company.”

As if Sunshine had heard and wanted to prove Dani right, all of a sudden she chirped louder, and flew off of her finger. She flew over to Malcolm instead. She flew fast and without warning, but Malcolm didn’t even flinch. He didn’t move a single muscle, when she flew over and landed on top of his head. Dani giggled, watching the parakeet immediately duck down and start teasing his hair. Malcolm cracked a smile, especially when she walked a little closer to watch Sunshine peck at him. “Yeah. She does that,” Malcolm sighed, and she laughed again.

Malcolm’s smile was soft, lingering on his face a little longer than normal as Sunshine hopped around on top of his head, slowly but surely, in miniscule ways, working to mess up his hair. Dani’s expression was a bit softer than normal, too. Their eyes locked once more, and their smiles stayed. Again, she was just a tad surprised. He’d smiled a lot more than he normally did, tonight. And _certainly_ more than he’d smiled recently.

The silence stretched longer than both of them seemed to anticipate. Both their smiles dropped, yet they still stared at one another, like they were waiting for the other to speak. But the other wouldn’t. And yet the other _also_ didn’t seem to want to move away, because their gazes held. There this was different from the one they’d had in the car, or at some points during their dinner. This was somehow heavier. It demanded more attention. It seemed to take up the entire apartment. It seemed, for some reason, unbreakable.

But it was. Sunshine broke it, when all of a sudden she let out a particularly loud chirp and flew off of Malcolm’s head. Both of them jumped, at the sound. Instead of going for her cage, she landed on _Dani’s _head, instead. Once she realized, she laughed a little, making a face as she felt the bird’s tiny feet pitter back and forth through her hair. Malcolm hurried forward, muttering a soft, “Sorry” the way a parent might do if their kid had rushed up to a stranger in the store and started talking to them.

“Sunshine. C’mere.” Malcolm held out his finger for her, but she was apparently feeling rebellious. Dani still felt her feet going everywhere. She stifled another laugh when Malcolm made a face. “Sunshine,” he cooed, reaching for her, but the tiny bird just returned an indignant squawk and kept going. Dani snickered, waiting awkwardly. Malcolm’s face pulled a little more. _“Sunshine.” _His voice was just the tiniest bit impatient. She didn’t change, and he huffed. “Sorry,” he apologized again, almost stressed, like he thought it was an actual ordeal.

“It’s fine,” she just laughed, and he relaxed a little more. He took another tiny step closer, begging Sunshine to just get on his finger so he could put her back. Dani’s smile faded as he did, when she realized how close they suddenly were. Malcolm was too busy trying to wrangle in his bird; he wasn’t even looking. But she was awfully aware that there were only a couple inches between them. She found herself glancing more down at the floor. Malcolm finally coaxed Sunshine to him and when she got back onto his hand, he lit up.

When he sat back more into his heels, he jerked, actually realizing just how close he’d accidentally gotten. His smile was quick to fade, and Dani felt bad when it did. He cleared his throat and looked from her to Sunshine. Before he pointed out a little stupidly: “I got her.” Dani managed a nod. He quickly turned to put her back in her cage and properly lock it, stepping away from her in the process. Sunshine seemed a little put-out about being put back, at first. But she must have quickly forgotten, because she turned and went over to her water not a second after.

Malcolm watched her intently. Dani wondered if it was just because he didn’t want to turn back to her. A couple moments passed, before she cleared her throat and repeated herself from before. “She’s cute.” He glanced back at his parakeet and smiled a little. Softened in that way he had before. It made her feel just a little better. She was able to regain her smile, and feel less like she’d done something wrong. Which was odd, considering she hadn’t even done anything in the first place. She glanced at the clock, and frowned. “I should probably go…it’s gotten awfully late.” And for some reason, she felt she’d overstayed her welcome. Though she didn’t add that last part.

He looked at the clock too, but wasn’t nearly as alarmed. “Oh. Yeah.”

She eyed him. “You’re going to sleep, Bright— right?”

This made him smirk. “I’d imagine at some point I’ll get my usual two hours,” he offered, sounding like he was only half-joking. She kept eyeing him, and he laughed a little before he relented with a tiny nod. “I’m sure I will. My head’s a…bit clearer, now.” This seemed genuine. That was another fact that was nudging at her, demanding to be noticed. He was being genuine, tonight. Not that he wasn’t always genuine, but this was just…a different type of genuine. “Thank you for dinner,” he added.

“You’re the one that paid for it; I just drove,” she laughed off. But smiled nonetheless and returned: “You’re welcome. Thanks for paying.” There was a tiny, awkward silence, where neither of them seemed sure what to do, in. Dani had had her limit of awkward moments for the day, though; she cleared her throat and cut it short. “Goodnight, Bright…I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Dani.”

She starts to leave. But she stops short. She hesitates for a second, like she’s unsure. Before she steels herself and turns around again. “You know it’s not your fault, right?” Malcolm’s smile was immediately dying. He said nothing, but she could see the guilt on his face. “We’re all working this case together. We win together, or we lost together. That’s how a team works…that’s how partners work.” She pauses, but shakes her head. “Bright…you’ve done _amazing _things for us.” His eyes flashed. “You’ve solved cases that…otherwise probably would have never been solved. We owe a lot to you. You’ve done so much. Don’t feel like you have to do _everything. _And don’t feel like you have to do it alone.”

He digests the sentiment. After contemplation, his smile is creeping back over his face. “Thanks, Dani,” he manages eventually. It wasn’t much, but she could pick up on whatever else he wasn’t saying. She could see it on his face, and she could hear it in his voice, and that was enough for her. “I appreciate it,” he adds, even lower, “I know you…didn’t have to…” He trails off.

She just shakes her head. “I wanted to. Promise.”

He seems doubtful, but he couldn’t argue. He couldn’t keep the smile from coming back.

Her smile is much softer now. She repeats, in barely a murmur: “Goodnight.”

He matches her tone. Her volume. Her quiet thoughtfulness. “Goodnight.”

This time, when she leaves, she walks the entire way. Down the steps and out the door, towards her car, leaving him behind. She doesn’t double back, she doesn’t say anything else.

It wasn’t until she got all the way home and parked, sitting in the dark of her car, did she realize how much she’d _wanted _to, though.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Gil calls him at six in the morning. He wastes no time at all. Just asks him to get down there.

He does.

He walks into the room and can immediately tell that something is wrong. Gil looked horribly trouble, staring off into space; he didn’t even notice Malcolm walk in. JT looked furious, pacing from one wall to the other. Edrisa’s expression was heavy…Malcolm wasn’t sure, but he thought that he saw her eyes were the tiniest bit shinier than they usually were, with unshed tears. Dani was sitting at the table, looking strained as she propped her head up on her hand. Once she saw Malcolm she stood up quickly, drawing everyone’s attention as well.

They all look at him. But nobody says anything.

“What?” Nobody speaks. There’s something _bad_ hanging in the air. “What is it, what happened?”

He knew something was wrong. Something awful, to get them all to act this way, especially JT.

But he hadn’t been prepared at all for the news. Not in the slightest.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

There were new, horrible additions…just adding to the overall gore. The newest victim had been added. An eight-year-old girl. Amelia Hull. She’d been the only member of her family to survive a house fire that had taken place when she was six. Now, she had joined all these other poor souls. Her injuries were not nearly as extensive. Her body had not been mutilated. But _still…_

“What’s going through your head, kid?” Gil was wearing that _look _again. The look that he wore when he was worried but trying to make it seem like he wasn’t. For a cop, he was pretty bad at keeping it cool…at least when it came to Malcolm. He tried not to distract himself by thinking about what that implied. He just turned, looking back at all the photographs. Gil kept walking, until he was standing at his side. Malcolm felt his eyes burning a hole through him. The tension in the air was demanding an answer.

He gave it reluctantly. His voice was just a weak sigh. “We’re going in circles…I’m trying to figure a way out— there’s _gotta _be a way out…it’s…just…” His forehead creased. Gil still kept studying him carefully. Given that he was just standing there, Malcolm figured that he now counted as an audience. He automatically shifted to thinking out loud. “This guy is _smart. _He covers _every_ track you could think of. There’s _nothing_ remaining on the bodies, no DNA…there’s no symbol he leaves behind. He can hold victims for months, torturing them relentlessly, yet he never gets caught. And then he proceeds to…just _dump _the bodies. Out of range of security cameras, but in a highly-populated enough area to have a guarantee of at least _one _person finding the victim fairly quickly.”

Gil nods slowly. “Why do you think he does it?” he presses.

This, Malcolm considered for a few more moments. His voice was slow and thoughtful when he started. “He’s trying to make a point,” he states his theory from before- the one he’s sticking with. “He’s shown he can fly under the radar, no problem, even _with _an active investigation— why risk it all by depositing the bodies somewhere populated?” He shook his head. “These murders _mean_ something…he’s trying to prove something, and he doesn’t want to prove something to just himself.” He shrugs. “What’s the point, if nobody else knows?”

“You think he’s trying to make a point?” he asks. “By doing something over and over again?”

_By doing something over and over again… _Malcolm slowly took a few steps forward, reaching out and tracing over each of the victims’ photos. There was a spark slowly growing to life, in the back of his eyes. Getting brighter, the more he spoke. He thought best when there was someone there to listen— to bounce off of. He’d been debating for ages now, whether or not going to see his father would have to be the course of action he took. Now, it seemed Gil was helping him in a similar way. “It’s an experiment…” he breathed, the understanding slowly dawning. “These…_these_ are his variables.”

“The victims?” Gil asked.

“They’re the constants. Their tragic pasts. _That’s_ their inclusion factor. The _dependent variable _is how long they can last. He measures it against what he changes…what he does to them…” He thinks of the similar injuries they’d seen, from body to body. “He takes someone who he knows has suffered…” His eyes are gleaming, by now. Resolution and certainty was cementing itself on his face. “He takes them, and he sees how long it takes to break them. All the old injuries on Kaelyn…she must have lasted the longest out of all of them. He tortures them until they can’t last any longer. Until they die, or— or maybe until they beg for death…he just wants to see how far they can be pushed. How resilient they can stay, since they’ve shown resilience in the past...”

“What’s the point of making sure other people see it? Why’s it worth the risk of being caught?”

He struggled to reach out. To grab that _one detail _that had constantly been evading him. He felt his fingers finally start to latch around it. He felt it _finally _start to reel in. “Because he wants to brag,” he murmured. Gil frowns, but Malcolm’s expression was only lightening. _“He wants to brag,”_ he repeats, louder. “That’s why they never live— he wants to see how long they can last, but he _doesn’t, _really. There’s not _actually _an option of surviving. No matter how much you can withstand, no matter how long you last, it’s only a matter of time. He wants to brag that they couldn’t make it. That they couldn’t suffer through it.” He looks at Gil, only growing more excited. “He wants to _brag…_that _he _made it farther than they did.”

His forehead creased. “‘Farther?’” he echoes.

“_He’s _constant_,_ too.” He turns back to the evidence, putting together all the pieces. _“He_ had a traumatic past. Something happened to him, something profound, that ruined his entire life…he’s never been able to get past it. The one thing that lets him _believe _he’s gotten past it…is by seeing himself outlasting others…” Gil’s expression was freezing into a look of muted horror and understanding. “He takes people that have suffered and he tortures them— adds _more _suffering— makes them feel what _he _feels must be the equivalent to what happened to him…and he keeps going until they’re killed. He wants to see himself _outlast_ them, so he can feel stronger, in comparison.”

Gil was silent, trying to take this all in. His eyes were scanning the photographs, just like Bright’s were. Trying to see the connection, however horrible it was beginning to look. “And…that’s why he’s so careless with the bodies…”

“It’s because that’s not the _point_. His end goal isn’t to get away with murder.” He knew it now. Now, after ages and ages of fumbling and grasping emptily in the dark, Malcolm had finally gotten his fingers around what had been in front of him this entire time. He was talking faster, and more certainly. Despite the macabre speech he was delivering, his eyes continued to gleam. “His end goal isn’t to remain free so he can keep torturing people— it’s to _prove _that he’s the strongest when it comes to adversity. Not only to himself…he wants _others_ to know, too. The police— they see all these victims, how horrible they look, and how much they suffered, and their first impulse is pity. To think about how they eventually couldn’t go on— _that’s _what our killer wants. He wants everyone to know that these people weren’t as strong as they were once seen. That _he’s _stronger.”

The older man’s eyes were dark. “They never had a chance…” he murmured.

Malcolm shook his head. “No. From the very beginning, their fates were sealed. He tortured each and every one of them with the intent to eventually break them and kill them— he just probably wasn’t even aware of that. Maybe he thinks that if they _were _stronger – if they were as strong as _he _was – then maybe they would have lived. Not even understanding that wasn’t ever an option. It would explain the differences in time.” He pointed his finger at each of their photos as he spoke. “Kaelyn lasted the longest…she bore injuries and scars that show as much. But eventually, she died. Bennett didn’t last as long— that’s why he was found just barely a month later. Marvin only lasted two and a half weeks before he succumbed to the torture. Amelia…” His stare was heavier as his finger lingered on the young girl. “She was only missing for a handful of days…”

“He always does the same thing…”

“It’s just up to them, how long they last,” Malcolm completed the thought.

Gil glanced at Malcolm, his eyes flashing. He wasn’t even aware; he was too busy looking at everything in front of them. “In that case…he’s probably already found someone else, by now.” Malcolm says nothing, but he notices the tiny frown that plays onto his face. “How do we take this information and track down the killer before he can add another victim to the roster?”

Malcolm hesitates, before he shakes his head a tiny fraction. “That…I don’t know yet,” he admits, almost absently. “That’s what we’ll have to figure out. In the meantime…” His expression darkens. His voice is quieter when he says: “Whoever’s up next will hopefully last long enough for us to do that.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“Thanks, for driving me,” Malcolm repeats. For about the third time.

Dani flashes him a smile. “It’s no trouble.”

It was late and the two were heading home, Dani making a pitstop to drop Malcolm off at his place before going to hers and hopefully sleeping for a solid ten hours straight. With Bright’s deductions, they’d thrown themselves even harder into the thick of this perplexing case. There wasn’t a lot to go off of, so it made it even more difficult to grasp at straws, the way they were doing. But with Malcolm’s help, it was a little clearer. The two of them had stayed back late, looking up people in the age range he considered applicable to their killer and trying to sort through and find a profile that fit. Someone with a horrible past, unadjusted, possibly had run-ins with the law, in-and-out incarcerations, so on and so forth.

As one might imagine, their search was in no means narrowed. Eventually, they’d called it quits, only for tonight. Now, they were almost to Bright’s. He wore a pensive look on his face. She turned and offered him a small grin, however odd it felt, in the context of the situation. “I told you, didn’t I?” He seemed confused. “I told you that you’d eventually crack it.”

He smiles, a tired and strained smile. “I didn’t crack _anything, _yet.”

“Of course you have.” She shoots him a look. The kind of look that urges him to stop and actually use his head. For someone that was so smart, he also had a remarkable streak of not using the thing between his ears. Especially when it came to himself. “Don’t discount yourself, Bright.” Her words are encouraging, but her voice has an edge to it, simply to get him to actually listen to her. His eyes flash but he stays silent. “What you did today was important. We’re _getting _somewhere now, because of you. You deserve to feel good about it, even if it’s not _exactly _what you want.”

There’s a long pause, before he reasons a soft: “I guess you’re right.”

Dani turns down his street. She states a firm: “I’m never wrong.”

This makes him laugh, and she’s almost caught off-guard by the chuckle, however small it was. His expression grew the tiniest bit lighter when he looked out the window. “Oh, right; how careless of me to forget.” They’d pulled up to his building, by now. The car stopped and they were thrown into a brief stint of silence. The kind of quiet people experienced when they were both certain they had to leave, but there was something still keeping them there. But eventually he repeated, as if in a means of reintroducing the concept: “Thanks. For…driving.”

The laughter was clearer in her voice when she repeated: “It’s no trouble.”

He flashed her a smile, which she returned at once. He nodded a little, before he turned and grabbed the door handle. He took in a slow, deep breath, like he was preparing to dive underwater, instead of just stepping outside. She interjected just before he could. “Bright.” He looked back. She hesitated, her mind going blank for a second as she realized she hadn’t _actually _had anything extra to say. He raised his eyebrows a bit, and she quickly shook herself back into the moment. She cleared her throat before she nodded her head towards his apartment. _“Eat _something, when you go in,” she snaps. His smile inches back with the look she gives him. “I _know _you _still _haven’t eaten your leftovers from the other night.”

“Should I be flattered you know me so well, or guilty that you’re correct?” he muses.

She rolled her eyes. “You should be _hungry; _you haven’t eaten all day.”

“Well, we can just go out to dinner again sometime, and I’ll eat then.” He says this teasingly back, without thinking. It’s only after it gets out, that it actually connects. He stops a little short. He opens his mouth, like he’s going to double back and correct himself.

But she just laughs, and he relaxes. “It seems like it,” she agrees, her voice warming just a little.

There’s a burst of silence again, where they just linger and smile at one another. It’s a little awkward, but it’s an odd sort of comfortable. Eventually, Malcolm’s eyes flash, when he realizes how long they’ve been sitting there just staring. He clears his throat and starts to shake his head. “Okay. Well. Then. I should go,” he manages. “I’ll— I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Bright,” she says, trying not to giggle.

“Tomorrow,” he manages. He opens the door and steps out. He gives her an awkward smile. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but nothing comes out. Dani snickers again when he just ends up shutting the door. He waves. He barely stops long enough to see her return the wave before he’s spinning around and walking away. He doesn’t waste much time at all before he goes into his building. She laughs again to herself, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

She makes sure he gets inside alright, before she pulls away and starts home herself.

The entire way, her smile lingers.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She gets into work on the later side. She’d stopped to get her daily-required coffee, and that had taken longer than usual. She was rushing in, to realize Gil was standing there, waiting. He looking impatient. She’d expected that part. But what she _hadn’t _expected, was the small double-take he did, and the way his eyes had flickered to look behind her. She hadn’t expected what he said to her, either. _“There _you are. Where’s Malcolm? Is he on his way?”

She’d started to turn back and follow his gaze, thinking she’d missed something. She frowns when he asks the question, though, and looks back. “No; I didn’t pick him up.” Usually, that was Gil. Or a cab. Sometimes an Uber but Malcolm mentioned one time that he didn’t like those as much— there was more leeway for something to go wrong there, _and _there was a greater risk of getting stuck with someone that wanted to talk a little too much. “He’s not here yet?” It was almost nine. And with the break in the case, and where they were heading with it, she would have thought he’d be here _early. _She wouldn’t have even put it past him to _sleep _there. She could see him now— curled up underneath a mound of files.

But Gil shakes his head. “No, he hasn’t shown up yet…” He pauses for a moment, staring off into space. Before he shakes himself, dragging his mind back from wherever it had started to wander. “Nevermind. JT is waiting for you. I’ll call him, and see where he is.” Dani hesitates, but nods. She turns and starts heading past him, doing as she was told. What she’d planned on doing in the first place.

Gil’s thoughtful look stays, as she brushes by. He gets out his phone and finds Malcolm in his contacts. He raises the phone to his ear, frowning as he listens to the ring. It rang and rang…but he didn’t pick up. The voicemail did. Gil’s look of thought was becoming more and more troubled. Was he sleeping in? Was he out doing something on his own? Was he screening his calls? He had no idea why. They’d broken _ground_ yesterday— it wouldn’t be like Malcolm at all to just drop something when it was so hot like this. He was too invested, especially with this case. And he hardly _ever_ screened Gil’s calls.

The voicemail beep is what brings him out of his thoughts. He straightens and clears his throat, shooing away everything else that was crowding his head. “Hey. It’s Gil,” he says, a little uselessly. “We’re waiting for you down here— we need you for this part. I was just…wondering where you are. You’re late.” Again, he pauses. But then he takes a deeper breath and just settles with: “Call me when you get this, I need to know when you’re gonna decide to come in.”

He hangs up, and his screen goes dark. He doesn’t move.

He just stands and stares at the black, a little confused.

Wondering why there was such an uneasy feeling in his gut.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The phone rings. And rings. And rings.

Nothing.

It was the fifth call that day that Malcolm had ignored. Gil was getting worried.

He called Ainsley.

She picked up on the fourth ring.

“Gil!” She doesn’t sound bothered. She sounds the same way she always does. Maybe that meant nothing was wrong. He found his thoughts leaping to that, immediately. _Maybe that means nothing wrong, maybe that means he’s okay. Maybe that means everything is fine. _The thoughts would seem paranoid to anyone else. Maybe they were. But he was already to that point. It was nearly five in the afternoon. All that time, and they’d heard nothing at all from Malcolm. During a very active investigation he’d thrown himself into for the past few months, now. That was bad.

Ainsley prompted after a couple seconds: “Hello?”

“Sorry! Hi, Ainsley,” he rushes. He wants nothing more than to catch up with her— especially since this whole mess has started, he’d been more or less distracted by everything else to even think about his personal life. But right now, there was an urgency, too. Apologetically, he gets right to the point. “Ainsley, I hate to bug you, but…have you heard from Malcolm today?”

“Malcolm? No, not _today. _He’s been busy with those murders.”

Gil drums his fingers on his desk, getting more on-edge. “When was the last time you heard from him?”

“Uh…maybe…three days ago?” He closes his eyes and rubs them hard, as he ducks his head. Ainsley must have picked up on the fact that that was not the answer he’d wanted to hear. “Why? Is something wrong?” she asks, earning her own nervousness.

“I…” He trails off, then bites it back and shakes his head. “Do you think you could try and call him? I’ve tried, but he hasn’t answered the phone— maybe he’ll answer for you.” Maybe he was just taking a break from the case. Maybe it was too much, and he was just trying to take a mental health break. The rationalization was weak at best, but he was grasping at nothing, trying to make it all make sense.

Trying to make it _anything _other than what he was fearing.

“Yeah; of course. I’ll call him right now,” she promises.

“Good…_good_, thank you, Ainsley.” He hangs up. Puts the phone on the desk. Stares. Waits.

She calls back in less than a minute. _Less _than a minute. He flinches as soon as she does.

He answers it, knowing full well what she was going to say. How she would sound.

But it in no way lessened the panic that burned straight through him when she nervously said: “He didn’t answer.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“Malcolm. It’s Gil again. I…look, I don’t know what’s wrong or what’s happening, but I need you to call me. As _soon _as you get this. _Okay? _It’s not even about work, by now, I just want to talk to you.”

…

“Malcolm, Gil keeps calling me. He sounds _super worried, _and at this point, _I’m _super worried, too. Could you just…call one of us back? Or _text _us? I’m out of town but I’ll be back by tomorrow. Just…it’d be a _lot_ less trouble if you just let us know you were fine.”

…

“Malcolm. This isn’t funny anymore. I’m standing outside, I’ve knocked for _ages _now, just open the door. If something’s wrong, you can talk to me. …_Malcolm._”

…

“Malcolm, if you don’t call either of us back, I’m gonna have to use your key tomorrow and get in that way— I _know _you hate it when I do that, but would you rather Gil go to Mom? …Ugh. Just— _call me back, _and all of this will go away! You’re really starting to freak me out. _Answer your phone.”_

…

“Malcolm. _Come _on. You— …I know you hate when I worry and I _try _not to, but— …with this _case_…I just—…_goddamn—”_

…

“Malcolm, Gil wants to call Mom. I told him not to— I told him to wait, but…you’re not making this _easy _on me, you know? What are you _doing?” _

…

“Malcolm…it’s midnight…where _are _you, are you _okay?”_

…

“Fine. I’m going to bed. But I’m keeping my ringer on. _Call _me— I’m worried _sick. _…You can _talk _to me, Malcolm. …You can _always _talk to me…okay? …Okay. Goodnight…”

…

“Malcolm? …Kid? …Are you there…?”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The next day, his phone stopped ringing entirely.

The _second _Ainsley got back, they were all going to his apartment. Ainsley, Gil, Dani, Edrisa, and JT all went together. Dani was surprised when JT added himself— they hadn’t even asked if he’d wanted to go, because they’d figured the answer would be no. But he fell right into step with them. His face was absolutely blank, but there was a briskness to his steps that got Dani privately assuming he was more concerned than he was letting on.

Ainsley had a key, so it wasn’t as if they were _actually _breaking and entering. Though the feeling was still in the same area code. They’d tried knocking, but he hadn’t answered. Ainsley and Gil had both shouted, but there was nothing. Once Ainsley unlocked it, her and Gil were rushing up the steps, taking them two at a time. The other three followed, their nervous looks only growing more so. “Malcolm!” Gil shouted, even before he hit the landing. But even when he did, and looked all around, there wasn’t anything to see. They already knew that, even from down there, but he kept yelling anyway _“Malcolm!”_

“Mal!” Ainsley started to rush around with him. The two were already tearing the place apart, but there was nothing to see. It was empty. The place was perfectly clean— spick and span, like it always was. It just didn’t have Malcolm in it, like they were hoping. Ainsley knew perfectly well the efforts were useless— Dani could see it on her face. But she kept walking, kept looking. Her voice was strained when she kept shouting. _“Mal, _are you in here!?”

Dani’s stomach was plummeting, the longer their cries were going unanswered. JT left to look up the stairs, but she didn’t bother. She knew it was a waste. Gil’s eyes were sweeping the premises, and they caught on hers. She could see the denial, that was there. The fact he was still looking only highlighted it. Dani took a deep breath, feeling like she was being choked. It took extra effort, somehow. She forced out the words that Gil was thinking and just didn’t want to say. “Don’t touch anything.”

He was breathing faster, now. He was coming undone, and she could see it. At first he didn’t say anything. He looked all around, like he was waiting for Malcolm to jump out from behind the couch or the kitchen island, laughing about how he’d tricked all of them. She could tell that he was praying for that, but she could also tell that he knew just as well as she did, that it was stupid. That that wasn’t what was happening.

And maybe what they were fearing wasn’t happening either. Maybe this was something entirely different; maybe Malcolm just decided he needed time away, maybe he was trying to take a break— hell, maybe he was out right this second grocery shopping, and they were just worrying over nothing. But he had been missing for well over 24 hours by now. And with everything they’ve seen, _this _was what they were leaping to. They didn’t want to. They didn’t want to even _think _it was _remotely _a possibility. And yet…

Dani’s eyes caught on something to her right. She turned, her heart sinking when she saw that Sunshine was hopping up and down, flapping her wings and singing out, like she was trying to get someone’s attention, or just say hello. She walked over to her cage, and her eyes fell lower. When she saw the detail, her stomach was gone entirely. It had dropped well past the floor, by now. She felt sick, when she saw the empty food and water bowl. She remembered the way Malcolm had looked at Sunshine— so softly, and lovingly. He would _never _leave Sunshine without food or water.

Ainsley walked up next to her and followed her gaze. She could tell by the way she paled, that the same line of thought was crossing through her head. The two women shared a look of mutual understanding and slowly-building horror. Ainsley looked over at Gil, who was staring at Malcolm’s coat. It was still here— draped over the couch. “Gil.” He turned to the blonde, already becoming even more put-off when he saw the look that was on her face. She stared at him searchingly for a moment before she said: “He didn’t leave food for Sunshine.”

The man’s eyes widened. He said nothing. But it was all there to see, on his face.

Sunshine was singing and hopping. Wanting to be let out.

Starved for attention.

Dani felt sick. She felt like the room was spinning. She felt like she was going to be ill.

She remembered how he’d smiled at her, and waved. Promised: _Tomorrow._

She knew he hadn’t been planning on leaving.

Staring at his bird, Malcolm’s voice rang in the back of her mind. Scoffing, careless, unassuming.

_I’d imagine if a person were to have my life, they’d _need_ a sense of humor._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would also like to preface this fic by saying it was began in the early phase of season one. A lot of time does pass in this fic, but things that happened later on in the season will not be included or referenced. It's kind of standing on it's own in a way, if that makes sense. So keep that in mind with littler details that might trip you up otherwise. They shouldn't be too distracting, I've tried to go through and clean it up as best as I can! Just something to keep in mind before you get too far in! <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally I got myself to finish this chapter! I'm sorry for the wait, but with school and work, typing 31 pages is a tall order, so I hope the length at least makes up for some of it! And I really hope you liked this chapter, it was a LOT to get through, in one chapter. After this is when the fic will actually kick into gear-- we had to get through these 65 pages of buildup :'D  
I should say now, that this story was started before episode five, and this chapter was written before episode six. So...I'm going to try and make it as CLOSE to the show as I possibly can, and hopefully that won't be too too difficult, but...it's just a little disclaimer. I suppose when you write for a show that's this early on, it's difficult to anticipate what to do considering the plot itself is just starting.  
Anyway! I really hope you like this chapter, this kind of sets the tone for the rest of the fic, and I am so so SO excited to write everything I have planned from here on out, because it is quite a lot! I hope I can hear from you, if you like it!
> 
> I have been debating on ages what to do with the rating of this fic. I'm still undecided. I update the tags frequently with every single update though, so please read the tags before you read the chapter, or you can ask me specifically if there's something that could be potentially upsetting, especially going forward. I try to write everything with respect and care, so depending on where I take it, just keep that in mind please <3

“What is this about?”

She’d expected the question, but somehow, now that she was faced with it, she was blank. She thought she’d readied herself, but now she was caught off-guard. Her stomach dropped and her mouth went dry. She tried to find something – _anything_ – to say, but she was coming up empty. Maybe it was because she actually _didn’t _have an answer. What _was _this about? What was happening, how had it all fallen apart so fast? _Was _anything even happening? Of course it was.

_…Right?_ Maybe not. But maybe that was just because she _wanted _there to be nothing happening— _God, _did she want nothing to be happening. She wanted this to have all been some kind of nightmare she could wake up from, she was waiting for her to open her eyes, see that early morning light, she was waiting for that relief, that thought of: _‘Well thank God that’s over.’ _She wanted to move on, forget this, she wanted to get up to face another day. A day where she could call her brother and actually have him answer the phone. Where she could go out to eat with him and whine about how he never ordered anything, where she would walk beside him down the street and playfully push his shoulder, see him turn to her and smile, and she could see that for once, he actually looked _happy, _and—

“Ainsley?”

She jerked, yanked out of her reverie. She blinked rapidly, turning back to her mother. She was staring at her with an impatient expectance. But in the back of her expression – the very back – Ainsley could see that there was apprehension fostering there, as well. Jessica looked between her and Gil, that nervousness only growing in increment amounts when the silence stretched on. Ainsley had asked Gil to let her do the talking…she figured it would go over easier, that way. But suddenly, she wasn’t able to speak. She tried, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.

Gil understood. He ducked his head briefly, before he cleared his throat. “Jessica…” She was already frowning but when she heard his tone of voice it was only getting worse. “We have…to tell you something, it…” Ainsley’s chest tore in pain when she saw how he was trying to hold himself together. He was locking his jaw back, shifting his weight. His voice sounded much different than it usually did. “We…”

“One moment.” She turned back to the table. When they’d been let in and led to her, she’d been flipping idly through a magazine, nursing a glass of gin. They watched her lean back down, filling her glass again before straightening and walking back to them. She eyed them both as she took a sip. “I feel like whatever you’re about to tell me requires a drink.” She said this jokingly, but Ainsley looked off to the side. She wasn’t able to hold her gaze. She knew Gil felt the same— he went quiet. In the quiet, Jessica finally seemed to realize something. “Where’s Malcolm?”

Ainsley closed her eyes. Jessica noticed this. Her eyebrows began to pull together.

Gil took a slow breath. “Jessica…” She turned to him. Her apprehension was getting more noticeable. “Have you…heard about the recent…kidnappings, and…murders?” The last word stuck in his throat.

Her forehead creased. “Of course…” She spoke slowly. “Why…what about them?”

“We…” He blanked. He doubled back. “Malcolm…thought through something, it was— it was…about…four days ago…” The number stuck on its way out, now. Ainsley was gripped by guilt. They’d kept it a secret from her, up to now. It was a miracle she hadn’t realized something was wrong by herself. They’d been hoping for that. They all knew that telling Jessica would be the final nail in the coffin. By telling Jessica, it would be admitting that something was horribly wrong. That they were willing to take the risk of Malcolm’s wrath if he _did _come back completely fine with some logical excuse as to why he hadn’t been answering his phone for the past four days.

They’d put off telling her, because once they told her, there was no going back.

They’d put off telling her, because by _telling_ her, they were admitting what they feared.

They were admitting the fact that Malcolm wasn’t going to come back. Not by himself.

Gil took in a deeper, quicker breath. But he knew there wasn’t anything he could do to prepare himself for this. For _any _of it. “Malcolm realized…that our killer was choosing his victims…based on their pasts— they all…had difficult pasts.” Jessica wasn’t putting it together. She continued to just stare at him expectantly. It forced him to go on. “We didn’t have any other leads. It was a guess, as it was…but…”

Silence.

Jessica prompted an impatient: _“And? _You _know _I hate hearing about these things; why are you telling me this?”

Now it was Gil’s turn to be speechless. He was stuck, just like Ainsley had been. It was all writing on his face, clear for anyone to see. The sorrow. The fear. The overwhelming _guilt. _Jessica’s own face was falling. Her eyes were slowly widening. Ainsley could see the understanding beginning to dawn, but, just like them, she was trying to resist it. She repeated herself, but this time her voice was a much emptier rasp. “Why are telling me this?” The air was suddenly too tight. It was choking them all. Her eyes went to Ainsley. Ainsley wanted to look away, but she found that once their eyes locked, she couldn’t. Her stomach plummeted when her mother pressed: “Ainsley?”

Ainsley’s lower lip trembled violently. She looked down at the floor, hoping she hadn’t seen. But she knew she did.

Jessica looked at Gil. Her shoulders were locking up, her eyes were beginning to blaze. She was leaning into her anger, only because being angrier was easier than being scared. “Gil.” Her voice was dangerously flat. _“Where’s Malcolm?” _

The question stabbed through him. He forced the answer out without thought. If he thought about it, he would never be able to get it out. He would never be able to look her in the eye and admit: “We don’t know.”

She stiffened. Her eyes flew wide.

Her face changed. From confusion, to alarm, to sorrow, to horror. They all ended up mixing into one horrible expression. Gil couldn’t look. He couldn’t face it. He had to turn away.

The very second he did, is when her glass hit the floor.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He paced from one wall to the other. He was stiff, his lips pressed tightly together. Nobody had said anything for ages. The silence was deafening. When Gil turned, his eyes went to the board and his expression clouded even more. All there was to see on his face was confusion, worry, and absolute rage, when he looked at the five photos lined up so neatly and perfectly. Kaelyn Foster, Bennet Rogers, Marvin Thompson, Amelia Hull…and now, Malcolm Bright. His photo was up with all the others, the same snapshot of a person that was completely oblivious as to what was about to come next. The only difference between him and the others, was that below his, there wasn’t a photo of a gory, or mutilated body. There wasn’t a corpse, showing evidence of relentless, awful torture.

Everyone else was matched up. Their bodies were photographed and put below them.

There was no photo underneath Malcolm.

_Yet._

His scowl was growing in severity. He continued to say nothing for a long moment. Before: “We need to check his apartment again.” Dani ducked her head. JT’s eyes flashed, but he said nothing. “He left something— Malcolm _must _have left something. A sign, a…a _clue_, or— a way to track him. He’s _got _to have left _something._” Dani said nothing, but her expression was slowly becoming more and more strained. “Malcolm would have _known _what was happening, he would have tried to leave something behind for us.”

It took her some time to scrounge up the courage to speak. “We searched it _thoroughly_, for—”

“We need to search it again!” he snapped, refusing to listen.

Dani grimaced. She didn’t argue.

Gil started to pace again, but this time, he stopped. He turned back to the board, his eyes flickering between Malcolm and the others. His stare lingered on Kaelyn. His eyes flashed. Before Dani could say anything, he was suddenly spinning around and storming out of the room. She caught JT’s eyes. Neither of them said anything, but their apprehension and dread was mirrored, in the person sitting across from them. JT’s was less so, but the fact it was there at _all_ was a testament to how bad this was.

Wordlessly, in sync, they looked away from each other, to Malcolm’s picture. Dani’s chest felt like someone was carving into it slowly. Her mind wouldn’t stop going back to that night. He’d been _right beside _her. He’d been in her passenger seat; he’d smiled at her, he’d laughed and had actually sounded happy when he’d chirped: “Oh, right; how careless of me to forget.” He’d waved at her. She’d _watched him _go inside. She’d made a special _effort _to make sure he got in okay.

When had it been? Had…whoever this was…had they been standing right in his doorway? The second he’d shut the door, had he been grabbed? Had his arms been yanked behind his back, had a hand gone over his mouth, had he tried to kick and scream and yell out for her? Had he tried to get _help? _Had he been knocked out right away? She had no idea what had happened.

All she knew, was that she was the last person that had seen him before he’d disappeared.

Her chest was only getting hollower and hollower. But her thoughts were sliced through when Gil suddenly came back into the room, walking in as fast and as abruptly as he’d walked out. He was holding something. Without a word, he slammed it down on the table. JT and Dani knew that asking him what he was doing wasn’t an option. They both just watched nervously as he yanked open the calendar. With aggressive, hard motions, he yanked it open to the current month. They watched as he uncapped the marker and started to cross through the days. Through May 16th, then 17th, then 18th. Before, he’d been marking the calendar off in black. This marker was bright red.

He marked off every day until he got to today. May 16th, to May 28th.

Twelve days, he’d been gone, now.

Once he was done, he turned and pinned it up, right beside Malcolm’s picture. He stepped back, looking sick. Again…nobody spoke. Dani was starting to feel a little ill herself, by now. Gil crossed his arms, not even blinking as he surveyed the slashes he’d made. It felt like years passed that way. Gil, a statue, Dani and JT not brave enough to move a single muscle. Eventually, he broke the silence himself. His voice was just a whisper. But with the way it shattered this silence, it might as well have been a scream.

“He’ll make it.” Dani had never heard someone sound so confident and so terrified at the same time. She studied the floor, so she didn’t have to see the look on his face. But it didn’t spare her from hearing how empty he sounded. “He’ll last…” he repeated, and somehow this one hurt to listen to even more than the first. “He can make it. Until we find him. I know he can. …I _know _he can.”

They didn’t reply.

They had no idea what to _say._

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Her phone began to ring and vibrate in her pocket. Again.

She ignored it. Again.

She just continued to glare at Gil, her voice only sharpening in its anger. _“How _can you have _nothing?” _she spat. If it were any other situation, she would have stopped and seen the exhaustion that was on his face. She would have seen that he looked just as upset as she was, that the fact she was yelling at him now only made him crumble even more than he already had. She would have seen how much he was hurting, because she would have recognized the signs from herself.

But this wasn’t just any situation. She wasn’t going to give him _any _slack.

“You’ve had this case for months— _four people have died, and you have nothing!?” _She was practically screaming. She could probably be heard down the hall, despite the closed door. She was _long past _the point of caring. “What are you _doing here all day!? You should be out there, you should be _finding him_!”_

Gil’s voice was weak. Barely there. “We’re…doing all we—”

_“It doesn’t seem like it!” _Jessica snapped. Her phone had rung itself out. Not a heartbeat after, it was ringing again. Tears built faster in her eyes. “What are you planning on doing!? Are you planning on _waiting for a body, just like you’ve waited for all the other ones!?”_

_This, _Gil’s head snapped up at. His sorrow was burning into anger at the very _insinuation _he would stand around while Malcolm was— while he was— “We’re doing _everything we can— there’s nothing to go off of!” _he snapped back, starting to let his anger get the best of him. Jessica jerked back, like he’d slapped her. He was certainly _glaring _at her harshly enough. “We’re going through _all the old evidence, _we are going after _any possible lead, _we’re searching Malcolm’s apartment ceiling to floor— _we are doing our best. But. There. Is. Nothing. To. Find!” _he yelled, ending the last cry with a harsh slam on his desk.

She didn’t weaken. She didn’t back down. She felt her phone start buzzing in her pocket again and she just fired back. “I should have hired a private investigator _ages_ ago,” she snarled. “I should have been wiser than to trust _you _to get him back.”

This made it even worse. His voice was dangerously thick and dangerously low when he looked at her and forced out a slow: “I _am…_going to get him back. Jessica.”

She shook her head, a foul taste in her mouth. Her phone kept ringing. “Then do it,” she hissed back, just as dangerously. Her lower lip wavered before she steeled herself with fury again, her voice dropping when she growled: “My son has been missing for more than _a month, now.” _

“You don’t think I know that?” he demanded.

“I know that you and everyone in this building put together could not save those other victims,” she returned immediately. She was trying to curb her tears. Trying to ignore the pain that was tearing her chest into two. She could see in her mind’s eye, her son’s smile. She could hear how he’d used to laugh, she could remember the way he’d looked at gratefully, that night on the street they’d apologized to one another. Her hands clenched at her sides and her voice grew angrier when she pressed: “I know that you won’t be able to save him, too, I know that one of these days my son’s body is going to _show up in some dirty wide-open space! And he’s going to be in pieces and he’ll be nothing more than one of your scraps of evidence that can continue to pile up in your office because you’re too _incompetent_ to actually find him!”_

_“I’m not going to let that happen!” _Jessica had been yelling again by the end of her speech, and the resounding scream wrenched out of Gil’s mouth before he could stop it. They both stopped a little short, both surprised at the volume. They stared at one another with mirrored looks of confusion and alarm. The blinds to Gil’s office were closed but he was certain every single person in the entire building had stopped to look towards them. The sudden silence was eerie and pressuring. Jessica realized a tear had strayed down her cheek. She reached up and wiped it away quickly.

Gil realized his own eyes were burning. His voice tired and hollow, and now swamped with guilt. “I’m…I’m sorry, Jessica, I’m…so—” He broke off, his throat closing in on him. He had to stop and take a deep breath, otherwise run the risk of his voice shattering and the rest of his defenses crumbling down along with it. He waited for the choking sensation to pass. Until he could breathe enough to speak without it coming out as a croak. “I’m not going to let that happen…I promise…” Jessica said nothing. She still just stared at him in a horrible mix of sorrow and disappointment and regret. He forced himself to meet her eyes, no matter how much it hurt. “We have New York’s _finest_ working on the case, now,” he tried.

But this just made her laugh. A sick kind of humor washed over her face and she looked away, shaking her head. Her humorless smile broke for just a fraction of a second, but she was already turning her back on him. Maybe to make sure he didn’t see her fall apart. She made for the door, but hesitated at the last second. She stood there for a few heartbeats, studying the floor. Her voice was bitter and fragile when she tossed over her shoulder: _“New York’s finest_ is the one that needs help.”

She didn’t stay to hear his response. To see his reaction.

She just opened the door and stormed away, refusing to look up and face the audience she knew they’d had. She turned and rushed down the hall, keeping her head down.

Feeling her phone start ringing again in her pocket.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It kept ringing all day. Something told her to block the number. She _could. _She had that power. Yet she never did. Something was keeping her from doing so. She didn’t want to admit to herself _why _she didn’t. But she knew. Deep down, she knew, but she was hesitating. She didn’t want to go there. But eventually, she was worn down. It was late at night when she finally answered. She didn’t even have to look at the number, to know who it was.

Her voice was freezing. “I told you to stop calling,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

He ignored this; she expected him to. His voice was even more scathing than she’d thought it would be. “What am I _supposed_ to do, when you won’t call to tell me what’s happening?” Martin spat. Jessica steeled herself. She pressed her lips together tightly, staring hard across the room, at the wall. “It’s bad enough I had to learn about Malcolm’s disappearance from the _television, _now you won’t even let me see what’s happening— he’s _my son too, Jessica, _I have _just _as much a right—!”

_“You have no right to him,” _she snarled. Anger was already burning under her skin, making her blood boil. She could practically taste the heat of it, on her tongue. Each and every word of hers shook with barely-repressed fury. “You gave up your right to him _long ago; _you have _absolutely no right to ask about him, I owe you nothing—” _

_“Malcolm is my son!” _Martin screamed, and the yell was so enraged and so sudden that she was immediately flinching away. She ducked, as if she could possibly be harmed over the line. There a beat of silence, and though Martin sounded much calmer when he spoke again, his voice was still bordering on the edge of a growl. “Malcolm is _my son, too,” _he repeated slowly. “And to know that you didn’t _tell me when he was—”_

“Do you know about this?” She practically gagged it out, it was so difficult to force.

He was silent for a much longer period, now. His voice was even quieter when he asked: “What?”

“Do you know about this?” She asked a little louder this time. “Do you know about this— do you know who killed all those people?” Her last question was the quietest and weakest of all. “Do you know who took Malcolm?” He didn’t answer right away, and she flared. “I said _do you know who—?”_

_“Of course I don’t know who did this, Jessica!” _he cried. “Do you _really _think I would tell someone to take Malcolm away!? Somewhere I can’t _see him— why would I do that!?” _She couldn’t answer. She just stared at her lap, tightening her shoulders. Again, Martin calmed himself down, only marginally. “I had _nothing to do with this, _and I want Malcolm back _just _as much as you do.” Her upper lip twitched with the sentiment. Her stomach curled. “I’m just as shocked as you are, Jessica,” he pressed. There was a heartbeat of hesitation, before he pressed: “I can help.”

“No— no.” She was immediately choking the words out. “You are not going to be involved, you—”

“Malcolm would do it,” he interrupted, making her freeze. “Malcolm would come to me for help, with a case he couldn’t solve— I would be able to point him in the right direction, if you would just—”

“This is entirely different and you know it— there _is _no evidence, there’s—”

“You don’t _know _that until you give it a chance.”

She scowled, suddenly feeling ten times as disgusted. “Is that what you’re doing now?” she murmured. “Using our _kidnapped son _as _bribery _for me to come and see you? Only to have you admit that there’s nothing?”

“Jessica, you know that’s not what I’m intending. Besides…wouldn’t you rather not be _alone, _with this?” Her heart twisted. “It’s been difficult for me, I can _hear _how difficult it is for you…why _not _come? I can help…we can talk…it’s better to go through something like this with someone— I understand what you’re feeling—”

She had almost started to fall for it. She began to weaken, her guard began to fall.

But then she remembered herself. She snapped out of it and gritted her teeth. “Don’t call me again,” she spat out. “I won’t answer.”

“Jessica, _you _were the one that let him get involved with that case, if you—” He’d started to sound angry again. She hung up. Threw her phone, because she didn’t care where it landed.

Afterwards, she could only stare dismally into the silence.

Her expression broke, and a sob crawled out of her throat. It seemed to echo back to her.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Ainsley was exhausted, but she couldn’t sleep. She’d been trying for ages, but at this point she was giving up. She turned, looking at the clock, feeling a tug of frustration when she saw that it was 3:56 in the morning. _All _she wanted…was to sleep…_why _couldn’t she sleep?

She wondered if this was how Malcolm felt, most nights.

The second the thought occurred, there was a hard tug in her chest. She looked back up at the ceiling, feeling her throat grow hot. She felt the tiniest sting, in her eyes as she stared into the dark. By now, she was getting pretty used to the feeling. It was strange. Ainsley Whitly wasn’t a crier— not in any sense of the word. She was usually the cool and collected one. Which, wasn’t such a big achievement, in actuality, when it came to _her _family. But out of everyone, she was the one who could keep themselves together. At least, se did a better job than she was doing _now._ Now, she was struggling. With everything. With functioning, with eating. Sleeping was near impossible. She couldn’t get her mind to stop.

It made her remember how tired her brother could look. How, when she would ask if he’d gotten any sleep last night, he would never give a straight answer. He would put on a smile…but it could not take away the exhaustion in his face, or the bags underneath his eyes. _She _was beginning to do all of that, now. Now, _she_ was tossing and turning, spending hours struggling just to grab the couple hours she ended up getting. _She_ was the one faking smiles for her coworkers. Now _she_ was the one fighting not to nod off during the day, drinking coffee to try and make up for the hours she had lost. Now _her _eyes were the ones that were rimmed with dark shadows. Now _she_ was the one who was too sick to eat.

Every day, she was looking more and more like her brother.

She wondered if, wherever he was right now, her brother was able to sleep.

She cringed a little, the sting growing in her eyes. She felt her lips shake.

But she stopped herself. She forced everything down, and sat up, taking in a deep breath, to calm down. She gave up on the idea of sleep. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she threw off her covers. She left her room and went down the hall. She went to the kitchen and got a glass of water. When she set it down on the countertop, the tiny click was practically earsplitting, in the silence of her apartment. Blearily, she started off into space, wondering what she was supposed to do for the next few hours before she had to start getting ready for work. When a faint noise got her attention.

It was faint, but slowly getting louder. She turned in its direction.

A mix of affection and unbearable sorrow swamped her expression. She abandoned her glass and followed the little chirps and squeaks. Sunshine’s cage had found a home in the corner, next to the window. The parakeet had been silent before, but now she was awake. Ainsley must have just woken her up, but she was already excited and bursting with energy. She hopped this way and that way on her perch, her head and wings twitching. Once Ainsley came to a stop at her cage and bent just a little so she could peer inside, Sunshine was chirping louder, rushing over to her like she expected her to let her out. But she didn’t, just yet. Ainsley just stared at her, her expression slowly becoming burdened with more and more sorrow, the longer she listened to her happy tweeting.

She reached up, wriggling a finger in between the bars. Sunshine bent forward eagerly, her excitement building. By now, the silence of the house was gone. It had been replaced with her twittering. She made it seem less empty, this way. Ainsley’s heart pained. Malcolm _loved_ her. He could shut out the rest of the world, he could lock all his doors and hole himself away in his apartment, but he _always_ had Sunshine there. He was never truly alone. And though he’d never actually admit it, she knew he was grateful for that. She knew he found comfort in it.

The more she thought about it, the more her heart began to hurt. She opened the cage and reached inside; Sunshine didn’t waste any time before she leapt up onto her finger. Ainsley brought her close, swallowing hard and blinking a couple times as she felt more tears begin to sting. The bird wiggled and bounced, leaning down and nibbling at her hand as if she could do any actual damage. The blonde laughed, a bitter, sad kind of giggle. A smile spread across her face, albeit watery. She brought her even closer, making sure to be gentle as she pet her head.

“Where’s he at, Sunshine?” she breathed, her voice flimsy. Of course, Sunshine was oblivious. She kept tweeting, kept singing, like nothing was wrong. Content to just sit on Ainsley’s finger. She felt her lower lip tremble again. The sorrow in her voice was much more apparent when she croaked: “I know you wanna know just as much as I do…”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“That ends our two-hour-commercial-free streak, but don’t worry! We’ll be right back after this break, with another two hours of _straight_ music coming your way.”

“We’ll have all the best songs to play, all day long. Whether you’re down at the beach, or barbecuing in the park, we’ll be sure to keep your party going.”

“It’s a scorcher out there, though; make sure you’re drinking a lot of water and staying out of the sun!”

“That’s right— and don’t forget, 9:20 p.m. _sharp_ is when you can catch the beautiful 44th annual Macy’s Fourth of July fireworks show launching from the Brooklyn Bridge; they always do such an amazing job with that show, it truly is _always_ breathtaking. _How_ do they keep topping themselves, year after—?”

Dani turned the radio off.

She was going to be sick.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Ainsley made the stop on the way home. Like she always did.

She walked in with vain but high hopes. With a weak smile. Like she always did.

They all looked at her with remorse and regret and sorrow. Like they always did.

She smiled more. Encouraged that they’ll get something soon. Like she always did.

She hugged Gil. Whispering that he didn’t need to be sorry. Like she always did.

She kept it together until she got into the car. Like she always did.

_Then_, she let her tears fall.

Like she always did.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Dani sat hunched over the table. There was nothing but pain on her face.

_Thank you, for taking care of me._

_What are friends for? _

_Wait. We’re friends? Really?_

She sniffed. Her shoulders began to shake.

_I should have you slug me every night. _

A tear ran down her face. She wiped it away, but she knew more would just replace it.

_Well, we can just go to dinner again, sometime, and I’ll eat then._

She started crying quietly, into her hands.

_Okay. Well. Then. I should go. I’ll— I’ll see you later._

_I’ll see you tomorrow, Bright._

She tried to stop herself, but she was only crying harder. Only hurting more.

_Tomorrow._

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Ainsley was let in. The second she was crossing the threshold, he was looking at her.

Martin smiled, when he saw his daughter. “Ainsley!” he cried. He walked towards her like he was going to give her a hug— like any parent would do when they saw their kid after such a long time away. But they both knew he wouldn’t reach. She stayed on the other side of the line. The thick red bar of safety that separated her and him. His smile was bright at first, but when he saw the look on her face was it quickly becoming pained. “No news?” he breathed, as if he was dreading the answer.

Her voice was soft. “None. There’s nothing.”

He sighed. With a much heavier expression, he went over to his desk. Scattered across it were notes of all kinds. A lot of crumbled up balls to show works that had suddenly died. Seeing it, she was disarmed. Slowly, she walked along the line to get closer, and maybe see what they were. His handwriting was so small she couldn’t really make it out. But he answered the question she didn’t have to ask. “I’ve been trying to come up with possibilities. Obviously…you can see I’ve been wandering in circles.”

“You and everybody else,” she returned hollowly. She hesitated, before she tried: “You…_really _have _no _idea?”

He looked at her, and there was so much sorrow and misery pooling in his expression, there was no questioning its sincerity. Or…there wouldn’t be, to most. She was holding her cards close to her chest. She knew that he could tell, but he wasn’t saying anything about it. “I’m afraid not, my dear…I wish I had better news…” She swallowed her disappointment as best she could. She looked away, towards one of the corners of the room. Still, he studied her. His gaze grew more sympathetic as he walked towards her, getting as close as he could before he was held back. “And how are you with all of this?”

“I’m fine,” she returned, a little stiffly.

He just tilted his head. “You look like you haven’t slept,” he commented gently. She faltered, looking back at him. Her cards were lowering just a fraction. But he was already peeking at the suits she had. “I’m worried about you, Ains.” Her heart tore when he used the nickname Malcolm always used for her.

“Are you?” she murmured.

“Of _course. _I’m worried about Malcolm, but I’m worried about _you, _too.” Her eyes flashed at this. Her hands curled a little, at her sides. His eyes flickered down to them, and then quickly back up at her. “I want to make sure you’re alright. I care about you just as much.” He said all of this slowly, and purposefully. He got a little closer. “Do you want to talk about anything?” He smiled a little as he gestured around him and proclaimed: “I’m all ears.”

She stared at him for a moment or two, completely silent. His smile grew. But it was fading when she looked away and shook her head. “No,” she murmured. “No— this isn’t about me, right now. And that’s okay.” His face began to fall; his eyebrows knitted together and he started to say something else, but Ainsley was cutting him off. “And if you don’t have anything we can use to help us find Malcolm, I have to leave. I can’t…I can’t stay here, right now.” Maybe it was the fact that Malcolm used to always come here, practically every day. Maybe it was the fact she knew that the man standing in front of her had inadvertently served to help put Malcolm where he was now, or had hurt him so much even before all of this. But she couldn’t stay. Not even with that sentiment in the air between them.

He tried to take another step forward. “Ains, you—”

_“Please _don’t call me that,” she growled quickly, cutting him off.

He did a double-take. Tried to ask something.

But she was already spinning around and rushing back out the way she’d come.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Edrisa was late to work, that morning.

She hadn’t meant to be. Usually, she was at _least_ twenty minutes early to whatever it was she needed to get to, just to feel okay. Her motto was: if you aren’t early, you’re late. So it had been a mistake. She’d gotten through her morning routine normally— she was on track to leave her house right at 6:30, which was right on schedule. Everything was running like clockwork…until she reached the door. Until she felt how cold it was outside and doubled back.

She had to get her coat out. A jacket wouldn’t suffice anymore.

_That_ was what made her stop dead.

The instant Edrisa shrugged on her coat and zipped it up, she was freezing in place. She stared down at herself blankly, like she’d never even seen a coat before in her life. She’d put on a coat loads of times, of course. She just hadn’t put one on in months. It had been getting colder and colder outside, so she’d worn her jacket frequently. But never her coat. It was never _cold_ enough for that. Now…it _was_. The realization smacked her in the face so hard it may as well have been a baseball bat to the jaw.

It was cold enough for winter coats, now.

It was October.

Which meant Malcolm had been missing for five months, now.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“Are you coming?” Ainsley jumped a little, surprised. She looked up from her phone to see her coworker staring at her, her eyebrows a little raised. She looked a little bit concerned. Ainsley tried not to let the thought sink in too much. “Are you gonna come and get coffee, or what?” They only had fifteen minutes left, in their break. Ainsley had gotten distracted. She hadn’t realized so much time had slipped by. But she definitely needed a coffee.

“Yeah— yeah, I’m coming.” She rushed after. She kept her phone in her hand.

Her friend, nosy as ever, leaned over to catch a glimpse of it. “You making a Spotify playlist?”

Ainsley tried to smile. “I’m adding to it.”

She looked again, and her eyes went even bigger. “_Two hundred and twenty-five songs?_ What are you making a playlist for— a cross-country road trip?”

She laughed. “No, it’s…” She glanced down, her expression weakening. But her eyes softened, and so did her voice. “It’s for my brother.” They looked like they were about to apologize. So Ainsley kept talking— she wasn’t in the mood to listen. She’d had plenty. “I’m…making him a playlist of every happy song I can think of. He…always listens to them when he wakes up, so I’m just…adding onto the list.” She held her phone a little tighter. “When he gets back, I’m going to have a whole playlist for him. As many songs as I can possibly find.”

Her friend smiled. “I bet he’ll be really happy to see that. He’ll like it.”

Ainsley glanced at her, but her friend seemed genuine. So she softened a little, too. She looked back at her phone and the extensive list she’d been building on for months now. Her smile grew just the tiniest bit. “Yeah,” she agreed softly. “I hope so.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He remembered exactly when he’d taken this photo. He remembered yelling at them all to get close together so he could get everything in the shot. Ainsley had been laying in the snow a couple yards away, making a snow angel…face-down, instead of on her back, for who-knew-what-kind-of-reason. Malcolm had tried to call her over but when she didn’t get up, he had to run over and haul her back. She’d been giggling the entire time, her little cheeks bright pick against the freezing wind. When they’d gotten back, Jackie was immediately fussing over her, fixing her hat and her gloves.

He’d gotten a photo of them standing by the snowman they’d spent all morning making. Ainsley was beaming, showing off the fresh gap in her mouth where her front tooth had been. Jackie was smiling just as big, and though Malcolm’s smile was smaller, it was radiating happiness. Jackie was bent a little, to be closer to them. Her hand had rested on Malcolm’s shoulder. Gil remembered that detail specifically, because it had made Jackie so happy— that he hadn’t pulled away from her touch like he did with everyone else. He remembered smiling. He remembered how hot his chest had gotten, with affection. Not only for his wife, but for Malcolm, as well.

He’d framed the photo— it was hung in the hallway, and every time he passed, he was never able to hold back a little smile. Except, today, he was doing the opposite. The second he’d passed it, he got stuck. Now, he was just staring at it emptily. He’d taken the day off of work— not willingly. They’d forced him. _Get some rest, _they’d said, apparently realizing he looked like a zombie version of his former self. Apparently realizing he hadn’t slept for the past two nights and was running on coffee and guilt, alone._ Take a day. You haven’t taken one in ages. You can come back tomorrow, but for now, just _please. _Stay _home.

Which was _stupid._

_How_ was he supposed to just _stay home?_

Every second he was _stuck_ here, he was wondering what he was missing. He’d been climbing the walls, and it was barely even noon. He’d been on his way to try and turn the TV on, just trying his best to be distracted and maybe, _hopefully_, fall asleep on the couch, when he’d stopped short, his attention wrenched to this photograph. He’d been standing for ages now, just thinking about that day. Watching Malcolm’s smile get blurrier and blurrier through his tears. He would give _anything_, to go back to that day. He would do anything, to get that sense of happiness back.

He sniffed, trying to shake it all off. He started to force himself back into motion, when suddenly, his phone had started to ring. At first, his heart skipped a beat; he wondered if it was Dani, calling him to tell him there had been something new, in the case. When he looked at the screen and saw an unfamiliar number looking back at him, the disappointment that ensued was nearly blinding. He could have screamed— he could have thrown the phone across the room and shattered it against the wall.

It kept ringing. He stared at the unknown number, strained and exhausted. He wanted to _sleep_. The whole reason he was sent home in the first place. He didn’t want to listen to a sales rep try and get him to buy some ridiculous thing. He almost ignored it. But at the last second, he sighed slowly, and accepted it. He lifted it up with all the enthusiasm of a man walking death row. His voice was just a tired exhale. “Hello?”

There was nothing on the other end. At first, he thought it was a wrong number, or just spam. He started to take it away from his ear. When the tiniest noise caused him to stop. It was barely anything at all: just the tiniest breath out. It sounded frustrated— panicked, and bordering on the edge of a sob. He thought at first he was just hearing things, but then it came again. It was a little louder, and even more desperate; _this_ time, when he heard it, he stiffened. He _knew_ that voice. He’d know it in his sleep, he could pick it out in a crowd. And yet, he could barely listen, when there was a tiny, barely-there whisper of: “Why’d it— …hello?”

Gil’s other hand immediately went to clutch at the wall, to keep himself from capsizing. Malcolm’s voice stabbed through him harder than any bullet ever could. It was _his_ voice— no doubt, it was his voice. He could never mistake it. And yet, he almost did. It sounded fragile— broken, like bits of glass. It was weak, and shaking, like whatever breath he was taking in wasn’t enough. It was choked with sobs that were struggling to get out. It was Malcolm’s voice, but it was the farthest from it that it could possibly get. It was rooting him in shock.

Malcolm’s voice broke even more. “Hello? _Gil?_ N—_No, _it’s— _hello?_ Why’s it no’ working— it h’s t’ work— _Gil!” _He was trying to whisper, but his throat was already making his voice a painful kind of hoarse. The man’s brain was going every which way. Where was he, was he okay, what happened, who had him, what was going on, how did he get a phone, how—? _“Gil!” _The sheer desperation in this hushed beg got him wrenching back into the now. His throat was swelled completely shut, on him. Forget never hearing _Malcolm _this desperate. He’d never heard a human _being _this desperate. He sounded half-crazed. “Gil, _please_— please, oh God— _please_ answer why _aren’t you answering!?”_

“Malcolm!” He was crying. He didn’t care. He was staring wide-eyed at the wall opposite him, wishing he could see him. He wished he could be there, so he could crouch down and bring him in close. This wasn’t enough— it was more than he’d had in months, but it wasn’t enough. “Malcolm, I’m here!” Malcolm didn’t reply. All he heard on the other line now was his breathing. It was picking up into shaking hyperventilation. He cringed, raising a hand up to his forehead. It was shaking as much as Malcolm’s usually were. “Malcolm— I’m here, I’m right here, tell me— tell me where you are, tell me you’re okay!”

He waited, hope blossoming in his chest for the first time in what felt like years.

But it died as soon as it got there. Malcolm just kept breathing faster, and harsher. His words shook and trembled. “Why isn’t it working, it rang, I— Gil, are you there? Say something— please…_please, please…”_

Horror started to stab into his chest. He spoke louder. “Malcolm? Malcolm, I’m _here, I’m right here!” _

Malcolm was beginning to cry. He could hear the sobs start to bubble out, and every single one ripped him apart. He was about to yell at him again, but he stopped himself, when Malcom started talking. Though it was clear he was trying to speak clearly, pure fear was making every syllable of his tremble. _“Gil—_can you hear me? _Ple— please say you can hear me— _there’s—” He choked, abruptly. He fell silent for a couple of seconds, like he was listening for someone. Gil felt like he was going to get sick, right in the hall.

After a couple tense seconds, Malcolm came back, his voice even shakier even quieter even more rushed. “Okay— I-I don’t— know where I am it’s a— cabin, he’s—” He bit back on a whimper. He rushed even more. “He has brown hair— gray eyes, Gil, I’m—” His voice broke. Gil could hear a couple of quiet sobs. Tears were rushing down his face. He started crying, just hearing them. But it only got worse when Malcolm came back, whispering brokenly: “Gil, please hurry, I— I don’ know how much longer I can take this, Gil…I can’t do this much longer…”

_“Malcolm!” _He started stumbling for the door, grabbing his keys and barely managing to hold them, they were so shaky. _“Malcolm— can you hear me!?” _The hushed sobbing on the other line was enough of a response. He threw himself out the door, nearly falling. _“Malcolm, I’m coming— I’m going to find you, you just hang on— you hear me!? Don’t say you can’t— don’t you say that!”_

“I’m sorry…” Malcolm whispered. Gil was shaking his head fast, ripping open his car door. “I miss you, ‘m— …’m sorry for—” He cut off suddenly, and Gil froze, halfway in. His eyes flew wide and hollow when he heard Malcolm suddenly choke again. This time, it sounded different— something was wrong. And sure enough, if he thought Malcolm sounded scared before, he had _no idea_ what scared sounded like when he heard him speak again. “I—…_shit, no, I have to go,” _he whimpered, barely audible. Gil started to fight him— even if he couldn’t hear him back, this was the first time he’d heard his voice in months. But Malcolm was rushing to end it, talking in one big breath out. _“Gil— as soon as you get this— please— please find me, I need your help, I need you to— NO!” _

The screech was sudden. Gil flinched away from it initially, but hurriedly came back. He gripped the phone with both hands as he collapsed into the seat. He heard what sounded like fighting, on the other end of the line. There was a thud, like the phone had been dropped. _“Malcolm!?” _He could hear him— it sounded like he’d been pulled away, but his screaming was so loud that it reached the device regardless. Gil’s blood turned cold when he heard him shriek out of a throat far too abused in the first place. He had no idea what was happening, but suddenly all he could hear were Malcolm’s screeches of agony. _“Malcolm!” _

_“Gil!” _In between his intelligible screaming, Gil was nearly sick when he heard his name. As he heard Malcolm screeching, sobbing for help that he couldn’t give him. _“Gil!”_

_“Malcolm!” _The name was let out in a keening wail. The pain of which almost matched his. Almost. Malcolm kept screaming, begging incoherently and choking. Gil struggled to take in enough air to scream at whoever it was that was torturing him. That was doing who knew what. His voice did a 180. It went from anguished to loathing, just like that. “I’ll kill you!” he spat, screaming loud enough to be heard but knowing he wouldn’t be, at the same time. He was hitting the steering wheel, the window, wanting nothing more than for it to be who was hurting him. _“I’ll fucking kill you, you sick son of a _bitch_, I’m going to find you and I’m gonna kill you, I’m—!”_

Malcolm’s screaming had continued in its severity. Its agony. Until suddenly, it stopped. A horrible choking noise sliced through his screeching, and then all of a sudden it went absolutely dead. There was no sound, save for a heavy thud on the ground, like something was dropped. Like _someone _was dropped. Gil’s gasp died in his throat. Even more tears rushed forward to blind his vision. He couldn’t even breathe. _“Malcolm…” _he rasped. Nothing. _“Malcolm…Malcolm, _say _something,” _he begged, sounding sick.

There was no response. He heard a voice grumble something too quiet to make sense of.

Then a small click.

They hung up on him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The second the car was stopping, Gil was throwing himself out of it. The others were right behind him, but he reached the cabin first. He beat his fist hard against the door, knocking loud enough to rattle it its old foundation. There was no answer. Breathing hard, he looked over his shoulder, at the empty grass around them. Their cruisers were the only ones in the vicinity. The phone held no information whatsoever, save for its location. It was burner phone. Which they should have figured. And yet with their tracing, and with Malcolm’s panicked and threadbare explanation, they were able to find out where it was they needed to go.

The signal had come from somewhere off of Route 29A. They’d followed it through the woods until they turned off the beaten path. This stretch of the highway was more woodland and rural. The closer they’d gotten, the more it had made a grim kind of sense; here, they had the potential to be much more removed from everything else. There was less chance of being caught. Malcolm had said it, before this entire mess had started; this man was smart. This was just another testament to the fact.

It hadn’t taken them as long they’d anticipated, to find the cabin. It was old and run-down. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. There was no car parked outside. The rational part of his mind was warning him to slow down and think of all the facts. It was trying to remind him of the last thing he’d heard on the phone. But the less rational side was far stronger, at this point. _That _side was taking over.

_He’s not here— the car isn’t here because he’s not here, he’s not answering because he’s out, we can go in and we can get Malcolm and get him safe without the killer even knowing we were here in the first place. _His hands were practically trembling. He was two seconds away from kicking the door down but he yelled regardless: _“Police! Open up!”_ The rational part of him would have begun to dread the fact that Malcolm wasn’t yelling back to him. Certainly he would, if he knew he was alone? But again, that side wasn’t winning. The other one was. _He’s just too hurt to yell back, we need to get in there and we need to get in there _now._ We need to get him safe— I need to get him safe._

Gil reached for the doorknob, preparing to have it locked on him. He was preparing himself to have to kick it down, but he was shocked when it gave way easily. The door opened wide. He stopped a little short, surprised. He looked back at the others and saw his surprise reflected back. There was the sense of something wrong in the pit of his stomach, but again, he ignored it. Trying to ignore how his hands were still shaking, Gil cautiously drew his gun. The others did too, and together, they crept inside.

It looked as old and bare on the inside as it did the outside. The floorboards creaked with every one of his slow steps. The living area was just inside. All that was there, was a couch and a hearth. There was a kitchen on the other side; one of the cabinets was open and Gil could see a spiderweb arching the inside. There was only one chair at the table. Dani was stepping around him, her eyes narrowed as she went down the small hallway that led to a door. Gil’s eyes tracked her. She shouldered her way in to discover a bedroom. The bed was stripped bare. After glancing through it, she turned back to Gil and shook her head.

He tried not to show his disappointment. His eyes landed on a door on the other side of the room, just next to what looked like a very outdated oven. His eyes flashed and he made his way for it. The others took after him— in the tiny house, there was nowhere else to go. If Malcolm was going to be anywhere, he was going to be on the other side. Sure enough, Gil’s expression shrouded with grave confirmation as he realized they were steps to the basement. He practically took them two at a time.

It was dim; he had to narrow his eyes, just to see. There was no alternate light source. But as his eyes gradually adjusted, he saw more and more. Once he could, he was staggering. He hadn’t stopped long enough to brace himself for what might be waiting for him. He was so focused on getting to Malcolm, he didn’t think about the actual scene he would walk into in order to _get_ to him. Gil had seen a lot of horrible things in his career. _None_ of them turned his stomach like this one did.

The floor was straight stone; nothing else. There was no bed. There wasn’t even a mattress, or blankets. There was a chair in the center of the room that was identical to the one upstairs for the kitchen table. _This_ one was covered in blood— both the seat and the arms. There was blood all over the ground. It was all dried smears, some darker than others, but there was so much the floor was practically painted red. The entire basement smelled like metal, and sickness. He immediately had to start breathing through his mouth, otherwise the smell would get to him. The others were less subtle. JT grimaced away, and a distressed noise died in the back of Dani’s throat, before she ducked her nose into her shoulder.

Gil’s steps were much more unsteady. He staggered further into the room, despite the fact that everything in him was screaming at him to run away. He tried to ignore all the other details for now. He tried to ignore that in the far back corner of the basement, there were hundreds of tiny little tick marks scratched into the wall. He tried to ignore what looked like four chain anchors embedded firmly into the ground…and two more, attached to the ceiling. He had to focus. His voice trembled when he called out: “Malcolm?”

Nothing.

He looked everywhere. But the room was empty, save for them.

Dani flinched. She kept her eyes closed and ducked her head. JT looked away as well, as the realization started to come over Gil’s face— it was too painful to watch. His eyes widened, and his stomach dropped. The older man turned in slow circles, looking high and low. No Malcolm. It was just as empty as upstairs was. There was no car outside because their killer had fled, and he had taken Malcolm with him. They were too late. They were too _late. _They’d taken too long and now he was gone and who knows what was going to happen to him now because of what he’d tried to do. Standing there numbly in the center of the basement, Gil could only remember how Malcolm had been struggling not to sob and break down as he’d spoken on the phone. How horrible and inhuman his screams had been, before they’d suddenly cut off.

They’d cut off into _nothing. _So _abruptly. _

Gil’s breath caught. He was frozen, staring hollowly at all the ticks in the wall and wondering for the first time, if he had listened to the man kill Malcolm. If he’d died right there on the other line, with Gil listening the entire time, unable to do anything about it. As soon as the thought occurred, it was taking root in his mind. Malcolm was dead. If he wasn’t dead, he was very _close_ to being dead, going by the scream he had heard and the state of this room. If he wasn’t dead then he was being taken somewhere _else. _Somewhere else they couldn’t find.

It had been _months. _Gil _knew _Malcolm; he knew that if he ever had even the _tiniest inkling _of a chance to leave _some kind_ of hint as to where he was or if he was ever able to call out for help, he would take it— he would do whatever he had to do. He had been missing for six months now – half a _year _– and this was the first attempt he’d made. It must have taken so much planning, to be able to get a _phone _off of his kidnapper. He’d called Gil first, trusting him to be able to help him out of everyone else…and he’d let him down.

Here he was: far too late.

Standing in the middle of the hell Malcolm had been trapped in, completely useless.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Dani was sitting in the break room, her chest hollow and her expression dead. Her hands were wrapped around the cup of Earl Gray she’d just made. She thought it would help make her feel better, but it just made her feel even more sick. All she could remember was Malcolm sitting with her— okay, and smiling. She remembered how he’d been ranting, and how he’d trailed off once he’d realized she hadn’t cared. Sitting there now, she felt horrible. She should have let him talk. For as long as he wanted to, she should have let him go on. _Hours_, even.

She remembered that night they’d gone out to eat. How she had left feeling like she should have said something else.

She’d ignored that feeling. She’d gone home anyway.

She shouldn’t have.

She should have stayed. She should have said what it was that was nagging at her, even if that meant doubling back and knocking on his door again. She should have said what it was that was on her mind. She shouldn’t have left things, like that.

She should have stayed, while she had the chance. She should have said what she’d wanted.

She should have told him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~) 

The room was so silent, he could hear the blood roaring in his ears.

It was loud. Deafening.

It sounded like screaming.

Like _his _screaming.

Gil had stared at this board so often for so long, he had memorized every single detail. He remembered every photo, every documentation, every meager connection that got them nowhere; he even knew the exact spot of every dent and mark. Every imperfection on this _stupid board he’d memorized because there was nothing else to do, because this guy was too good just like he’d always been they hadn’t even been able to get a single fingerprint how in the world did he not leave a _single fucking print _all they had was the brown hair and gray eyes which wasn’t _anything_ and all they’d figured out was that the blood was Malcolm’s just like he always knew all that blood covering floor smeared on the wall soaking that chair it was Malcolm’s and all that suffering was his too and he’d called _him _first because he trusted him more than anyone else and he’d let him down and he was probably dead by now and if he’s not dead then he’s _dying_ and he was just standing here staring at this stupid board like he did every single _goddamn day _all he could do was stare at this _fucking board this stupid board stupid worthless useless fucking—

He snapped. One moment he was motionless, the next he was anything but. He grabbed the nearest photograph— one of the photographs of Kaelyn’s ruined corpse, the one that had started it all. He grabbed it and yanked hard, ripping it down. And he found that once he did, he couldn’t stop. He grabbed and grabbed, tearing off everything he could and sending it to the floor in a heap. He ripped down all the photographs, all the map markers, all the theories, all the lines they’d made useless connections with. He ripped it all, and at some point he’d started yelling, he just didn’t know when.

He wasn’t even thinking. His body had a mind of its own; his arms just moved wildly, his hands just grabbed. He was blind to everything else— he was deaf to the shouting that had started behind him. All he could think about was Malcolm. The little boy he’d handed a piece of candy to…thinking to himself that it was such a meager, tiny thing when compared to the fact that he had just saved his life against his own father. The boy he’d watched grow up. The boy he’d taken with him on stake-outs, tolerating hours of him whining that nothing was happening, _why _wasn’t it exciting? The young man he took on college tours, and had silently beamed with pride over as he watched him walk through Harvard’s campus.

The young man he’d continued to beam with pride over— when he got into the FBI, when he joined them, and solved case after case. The young man he’d wanted to tell _so _often that he was so _proud_, that he couldn’t be prouder…

That he _loved _him.

He’d never gotten to tell him how _much_ he loved him.

When he ran out of papers to tear down, he grabbed the board and flung it to the ground. He was just about to start stomping on it, when suddenly there were hands on him. They grabbed his arms and dragged him back. He tried yanking, and fighting, but there was no chance of breaking away. Once he was pulled off, his head started to clear. He staggered, suddenly feeling exhausted. His throat was burning in pain from all he must have screamed. The room was filled with scattered papers. The board had slammed down on the table. He was gasping unevenly, in and out. His eyes caught on one of the photographs.

Malcolm’s. Smiling just a little. Looking at him as if asking a pleasant: ‘What was all _that_ for?’

Gil tore his eyes away and looked up. Dani was standing across from him, overwhelmed and saddened. JT was the one who was holding him back. He still was, just in case. Everyone outside was staring, their expressions a carbon copy of Dani’s. The more intelligence came back to him, the more embarrassment began to burn under his skin. He looked from her, to the mess. JT slowly began to let go of him. He fought to get control of his breathing again. His voice was weak when he started to try: “I…Dani…I—”

“You’re off the case.” The words were flat.

He jerked. It didn’t even make sense at first. His forehead started to crease. It took him a moment, but he eventually managed to get his tongue to work. “I— you…you can’t do that, you can’t—”

“You’re too close.” Her words were only getting flatter. His stomach dropped, when she fired back the words he’d said to _her _about Estime. There was pain in her eyes as she looked at him, disheveled and worked up and still breathing hard. But there was no question in them, at the same time.

Gil began to scowl. His hands clenched, at his sides. “We’re _all _too close,” he snapped.

_“You’re _the closest,” she rivaled immediately. “And obviously it’s gotten to be too much for you.”

He took a step forward, and JT was fast to grab his wrist. Not that he actually posed a threat— everyone knew that. But it was just to keep him grounded. Papers crunched under his feet, with the tiny advance. He was struggling to keep his glare, but it was quickly weakening. He could feel himself losing it. He could feel himself losing _everything. _“You can’t take me off this case,” he growled. Dani said nothing, but her glare was resolute. “You _can’t. _I’m your—” He glanced behind her, through the windows where everyone was still staring. His stomach dropped when they all quickly rushed to get back to whatever it was they’d been doing before this had started.

When he looked back at her, his glare was gone. There was just exhausted desperation. The change was so fast. All other emotions drained out of him in one big rush, leaving nothing else behind. Her chest caved in with horrible sorrow when his voice came out smaller, and weaker. “You can’t take me off this case.” Though the words were the same, they were entirely different, at the same time. She crossed her arms and looked down at the floor. He took a step closer. This time, JT let him. “Dani…_please…” _She refused to look at him. It just made him worse. “I…I _have_ to find him…Dani…” The words sounded pathetic, he knew. But he didn’t care.

Dani didn’t look at him. She didn’t say anything. She wasn’t going to.

Gil stood and waited in vain, knowing he would get nothing. Knowing there was no changing it.

Knowing there was no changing _anything_.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_‘Oh, the weather outside is frightful. But the fire is so delightful. And since we’ve no place to go…let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.’_

Ainsley stood, staring at the fire, crackling and popping in the hearth. She’d been standing there for ages. The only sound in house, save for the fire, was the music. But even the music seemed to understand that something was wrong; it was so quiet, you could barely hear it. It was too scared to be loud. It was too scared to be happy. It was just like them. Too scared to open presents. Too scared to talk. Too scared to smile. Too scared to even say ‘Merry Christmas’ because by saying it, you would be cementing the fact that it had now been seven months and nine days.

Ainsley wasn’t blind to the murders; she’d been the one reporting on each and every one of them. She’d cleaned up the details for television, of course— but she knew the extent of the injuries. She knew the stories— she knew how long they’d lasted. Kaelyn Foster had been missing for almost three months, before she had died. Her injuries were extensive and horrible. She’d been missing practically half her teeth. Her wrist had been broken so severely, it had been twisted all the way around. Her ankle had been snapped. Her cheek had been cut away— sawed off.

That was just from less than three months. _Three_.

Malcolm was going on _eight_, now.

If he even _was, _still.

The moment the thought crossed her mind, her stomach was practically heaving. No. No— she couldn’t give up on Malcolm. Not on her brother. He was strong. He was _more _than strong. He had his weak points, but with everything considered, Malcolm was one of the strongest people she knew. If there was anyone in this world that could beat whoever that guy was— if there was anybody that could _outlast _him, like he didn’t want them to, it was her big brother. She knew it.

She was quick to correct herself, and tell herself this.

But even _with _the reiteration, she could feel how hollow it was.

She kept staring blankly at the fire, not even really seeing it. If she was paying attention, she would have realized how hot she was becoming. She only realized, once she felt a hand on her shoulder. The second she felt the touch, she was jumping out of her skin. Her head whipped around fast. Jin jumped too, surprised and guilty. He looked like he was about to apologize for startling her, but Ainsley beat him to the punch. She forced out a laugh, shaking her head and pressing a hand to her forehead. Her smile was strained. “Oh— sorry, I wasn’t…paying attention, I guess.”

“It’s alright.” He looked at her with concern so prominent, it may as well have been a neon sign. She already knew what was coming, and she really wished it wouldn’t. But her wishes were proven useless when he asked anyway. “You okay?” Immediately, she was looking for any sign of bitterness or irritation. She knew at this point he probably deserved to feel _both_ those things and more. But she couldn’t find it. He rubbed her shoulder a little, sympathy layering on his expression even more.

She took in a slow breath and smiled again. “No— yeah, I’m fine. Everything’s…” She trailed off, before she gave up the effort. Her shoulders drooped, and her smile faded. “I’m sorry…you _really _should have spent your Ch—” She wilted. She glanced at the fire before she cleared her throat and started over. “You should have spent your night somewhere else. Somewhere less…” She cracked a smile that was layered in cynicism. “…awful.”

He softened, still with that same sorrowful kindness. “It’s _not_ awful,” he promised. Her expression held nothing but doubt; he planted a kiss on her forehead. It made some of the heaviness lift off her face. “It’s a _nice _night. I just wanted to be with you.” She smirked, laughing just a little under her breath. He grinned. He stood a little closer to her, moving to rub her arm comfortingly, instead. She fell quiet again, sobering when she leaned against him. He asked again: “You okay?”

There was a long pause. Before she took in a deep breath and repeated herself. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

It was obvious he didn’t believe her. He didn’t actually _say _anything, but she could tell.

She went back to concentrating on the fire, studying it so intently, she didn’t even blink. For a moment, they stood in silence. It was broken with the sound of footsteps. Ainsley turned and looked over her shoulder; her mother was walking back into the room with a platter of gingerbread cookies; she was wearing a too-wide smile. “They’re finally done!” she cheered. “Freshly-baked— get them while they’re hot!”

Ainsley smiled, reaching out to take one. “They look really good, Mom.”

Jin did the same. “Yeah— thank you.”

She just nodded, setting them aside. She didn’t take one for herself. Instead, she grabbed something else off the table and went back to Ainsley. Ainsley stiffened; she hadn’t even noticed it was there in the first place. “Here you are, darling.” She took it, looking at the finely-wrapped box with surprise. She hesitated, not really sure whether or not she should open it. It felt wrong. But when she looked up at her mother, she smiled and nodded her head towards it. “Go ahead.”

She complied. Carefully, she tore off the wrapping. Inside, was a necklace. Its charm was three flowers, pale pink and blue and yellow, encrusted with diamonds on their petals and their stems. It was simple, but she liked simple— she was surprised; her mother rarely ever ‘stooped’ so low as to do simple. Her smile grew. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, resting the charm in her palm as she looked at its every detail. Her mother seemed relieved. Jin reached out for it. She flashed him a grateful look as she handed it over and he put it on. She looked at her mother and softened. “Thank you. I love it.”

Jessica beamed. But there was something off about her smile. “I’m so glad you like it. I wasn’t…sure whether or not to give it to you now, or wait for tomorrow, but…you and Malcolm…” Her smile grew more strained. Ainsley wilted. “You two always had your _tradition_ of opening one gift on Christmas Eve.” She shook her head, laughing softly under her breath. “You two _never _had patience…”

“Yeah…we did.” The three words were hollow.

For a heartbeat or two, it was silent between the three of them. Jessica closed her eyes briefly, before she forced them open again, taking in a deeper breath and clearing her throat. “Nevertheless…I’m making cocoa.” Ainsley nodded, trying to draft up her own smile. Her mother’s eyes flickered to Jin and she brightened just a tad— this time in a genuine way. “It’s good to see you again, Jin; I’m glad you could come tonight. I hope we’re not as _dismal_ as you dreaded we would be.” This was said only half-jokingly.

He smiled, but it was layered in too much sympathy to really count for anything. “Of course not. I’m having a great time.” Ainsley complimented him mentally for being such a good liar. “Your house is beautiful; thank you for having me.” Jessica nodded, starting to turn to head back for the other drinks. Ainsley stiffened as Jin called her back. “Mrs. Whitly…” She shot him a look, already asking him what he was doing— asking him to stop. He hesitated, before he offered very carefully: “I’m…_very_ sorry. About Malcolm.”

Her mother paled. Her lips pressed tighter. Ainsley was looking at him more pointedly now, and he seemed to get that he probably should have just let the night continue with no mention of her brother. After all, if you don’t mind something, it didn’t matter. And it wasn’t that Malcolm didn’t matter, it was just that they were hoping they could have one night pretending everything was fine. They weren’t pretending _well…_but at least they were trying. Now, all their efforts were suddenly hitting a wall.

He could tell he’d struck a nerve. He tried to make it better. “I’m sure…_wherever _he is…he’s thinking about you two. And— he’s missing this. Just as much as you are.”

Her smile fractured. She said nothing.

He glanced at Ainsley and saw the look she was giving him, much more pained now. He grimaced. “I’m sorry.” His voice was much weaker. “I…I shouldn’t have…said anything…”

“It’s alright,” she rasped. Her smile was weak. Her words were fragile. As was the artificial brightness she forced into her words when she spoke. “Besides…I don’t think he’s missing this…” She turned away, to get the cocoa. And to make sure they didn’t see how her expression broke when she tried to tease, “He always hated these Christmas get-togethers…”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Ainsley got the call at one in the morning. She never kept her phone on silent, anymore— the ringer was always turned up as loud as it could go. When it had started to ring, her eyes had flown open and she had immediately been gripped with about five different emotions all at once as her mind flew wildly through every option of what the call could be for. It was Gil, saying they’d found Malcolm and they were bringing him home— that he was hurt, but he was alright and this nightmare was over. It was going to be some hospital in Missouri, saying that they had a man brought into the ER and they’d identified him as her brother and she needed to come right away. It was _Malcolm, _calling her and telling her that he’d gotten free somehow and he was on his way home.

It all flew by in less than a moment, yet when she’d flown to answer, she’d realized it hadn’t been any of those at all. Her heart had sunk. She’d closed her eyes, and hung her head. She’d sat there and listened, to the words that made no sense, trying to keep herself in check because out of all of them, _she _was the one that always had to be in check. She was the strong one, and she was the one that was called. So when she got the call and realized what was happening, she got up and got dressed, bundling up against the cold and bracing herself for what she was knew was going to come, before she headed out the door.

She let herself inside the house. She had a good idea where her mother was, but just in case there was any doubt, the only light that was on in the entire place was the light in the sitting room. Ainsley traced her way back there, her footsteps sounding loud in the expansive, empty halls, even though she’d just slipped on some converse on her way out. When she got to the sitting room, she lingered in its entryway for some time. She felt rooted to the spot, like she couldn’t move. She could only stare inside at her mother, her heart feeling as though someone had poured acid over it.

She was sitting on the couch, stooped over an album. There was a full glass in front of her…and about four bottles scattered across the coffee table that attested to how long she had been sitting there, and how much she had had. Ainsley could see that she was swaying a little. She was mumbling to herself. Ainsley she took in a slow breath. She straightened, before she walked inside, around the table so she could be in front of her.

“Mother.” Jessica didn’t even look up, at first. She was focused on the book resting in her lap. Ainsley’s eyes flickered to it, and her heart was ripped with yet another pang when she saw that it was old photos. Currently, she was staring at a photo of Malcolm pushing her in her stroller, when they were both so little. The look on her face was a horrible mix of softness and sorrow. Ainsley closed her eyes briefly, taking in another breath, before she tried again. _“Mom.”_

Jessica looked up, like she was surprised to see her. She probably was. She probably had forgotten she’d called her, if she’d even realized she’d called her in the first place. Ainsley had had many instances of her mother calling her when she was too inebriated to understand why. It wasn’t the first, and yet this time it was different. This time, it was a _lot _different. “Ainsley…!” It took a moment, but now a smile was spreading wide over her face. Like Ainsley had made her night by simply showing up. “Oh, Ainsley, come sit! I’m looking through old photos…”

“Yeah, I can see that,” she remarked. She glanced at her watch and at the empty bottles. She picked her way over, until she could take a seat beside her. She kept her voice careful and slow when she asked: “How much have you had to drink?”

“Oh, don’t be a spoilsport,” her mother returned. Ainsley started to open her mouth to say something – to remind her of the fact that she had called her just fifteen minutes ago talking so much nonsense she had no idea what she was even trying to get across – but her mother was continuing on before she got the opportunity. She shifted over, so that the album was spread across both their laps. She flipped the page and at the unexpected photograph of Malcolm giving a two-year-old version of herself a hug, Ainsley faltered. Her eyes widened out and her stomach dropped, when she looked at her brother’s beam. Something was already feeling wrong in her throat.

“Look at the two of you…” her mother breathed. Ainsley did, getting stuck on doing just that. Her brother’s eyes were shining, as he held her tight. There was a huge beam on her face, from the attention. “Oh, you two w’re always _sooo _close…you always got along…I never had to worry about the two ‘f you…” A couple of her words were slurring. Ainsley wilted even more. Her mother turned the page again, and there was a photo of them at Ainsley’s fourth birthday. She had cake all over her face. Malcolm was laughing. The lump in her throat was getting more and more difficult to swallow around. “You both w’re _so _precious…”

She cracked a tiny smile that was nothing but sorrowful.

Her mother turned to another page. It was another one that must have been sometime before she was five. This time, it seemed a little bit closer to that age, though. Malcolm was giving her a piggy-back ride. Her arms were held up in the air, like she was on a rollercoaster. She remembered that…he used to always give her piggy-back rides, when she’d asked for them. It never mattered when. She used to love them. She’d forgotten that, up to now…

Jessica sniffed. Ainsley’s thoughts were thrown back into the present when she turned and realized her mother was crying. Suddenly, there were tears running identical tracks down her mother’s face. The dam had burst, abruptly. Her heart sank. “Mom…maybe you should—”

“He was always so protective of you, w’sn’t he?” her mother croaked, her voice beginning to fragment and crack.

The tense was what tore it, for her. The _past_ tense.

She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t handle it. Not this late. Not tonight.

Ainsley started to take the book, moving slowly. “Mom— you’ve got to go to bed, you’re just upsetting yourself—”

_“Stop!”_ her mother snapped. She jumped a little, when she suddenly grabbed the book and yanked it back. She had a vice grip around the thing, now. Clutching it like it was a lifeline. She glared at Ainsley with open hostility, so fierce and unexpected that it was causing the girl to freeze. Jessica scowled at her for a moment more, before she slowly looked down at the album again. Her anger thawed, only to quickly return to the bottomless remorse that had been there prior. “I just want to see him…” she murmured, so lowly and quietly that Ainsley was certain she hadn’t meant for her to hear.

She weakened. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, trying to keep herself in check. She opened them again, and tried to make her voice as even and as level as possible. “I do _too, _Mom…and we _will.” _She hoped she sounded surer than she actually was. “But right now, I think you need to go to sleep. You’re tired…you can look at the photos in the morning.”

She may as well have not even said anything. Jessica was looking back at the photo album, and her eyes were welling over with fresh tears. “Oh, look…” She held it out, so Ainsley had no choice but to. Her heart ached even more when she saw that it was a family photo. Probably one of the last photographs that had them all in it before everything had gone wrong. She had been under the impression that all the photos like that had been burned…she guessed her mom had saved a couple. It was from a vacation she couldn’t remember. They were all smiling, all happy. Her mother was holding her on her hip and beaming at the camera. Her father’s arm was around her waist, hugging her close. His other was out so his hand could rest on Malcolm’s shoulder, who was hugging his side tightly. Smiling from ear to ear.

Ainsley said nothing; she just stared at the photo miserably. Jessica’s voice was choked when she eventually croaked out: “We were so happy…” Ainsley’s eyes flickered to her. It felt like there was a pound of bricks resting on her chest. “We were all so happy…_he _was so happy…” She covered her mouth with one hand, as her shoulders started to shake. Her voice was so thick, it was hard for Ainsley to really understand her when she mumbled around her palm, “And I— I stopped taking as many pictures after it happened, now I don’t…now I have hardly _anything _of him…”

Ainsley’s eyes began to sting. She grabbed the book again. “Mom. Let’s look at these tomorrow. It’s late.” This time, she didn’t fight. When Ainsley took the book from her, she began to cry into her hands, instead. Ainsley got up and got rid of all the bottles and her glass, purely to get away from her for a moment and calm down, before she started crying herself. She had to take the moment apart to get her feelings back in check before she went back into the room, seeing that her mother was still crying just as hard. Her choked sobs and sniffs were all there was to hear.

Ainsley’s heart was heavy. Her mother had been doing the best she could, with all of this. More often than not, when she was faced with emotion, she tended to react in an angrier way. She leaned into anger rather than anything else, or at least, she put up an angered front. But now she was drunk, and far too wasted to even begin to try and regulate her emotions. Now, it was all getting out at once, and Ainsley knew that if she could see herself now, she would be mortified.

She put her hand on her shoulder. “Mom.” She didn’t react, but she had the feeling she was listening regardless. “C’mon. It’s time to go to bed. It’s late.” She glanced around the room, trying to think. When her mother didn’t speak or do anything, she prompted: “Do you want to go to your room or do you want me to get you a blanket, and you can sleep here?”

She didn’t answer. She just asked her own question. She picked her head up, her eyes red and puffy. She sniffed, and fixed her with a look that seemed to be nothing but endless pain. “What’s the date?” she asked instead. Ainsley faltered, not sure what to say. She prompted: “The _day_— what day is it?”

She tried to avoid it. “Let’s get you upstairs, I can—”

“What _day _is it?” she just asked again.

Ainsley felt hollow. She thought about lying, but didn’t see the point in it, anymore. “January 15th.”

At first her mother laughed and hummed, as if she’d simply forgotten and was thinking to herself about how careless she was. But when she stared off to the side afterwards, and the date sunk in, Ainsley could tell. Her lower lip trembled briefly, before she closed her eyes. She ducked her head, whimpering the date back to herself. “January 15th…” She cringed and started to cry again. This time, she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t speak anymore. All she could do was shake her head and sob.

Ainsley grabbed her hand and helped her up. Getting her upstairs was a bigger task than she anticipated— she had to let her lean on her and every so often they nearly fell, with her mother’s gait as unsteady as it was. But eventually, they got up there and Ainsley got her to her room. As she helped her to the bed and let her lay down, she found her eyes wandering. She had been in her mother’s room multiple times, and yet for the first time she was realizing how empty it actually was. The bed was big enough for _three _people to sleep in and yet still have legroom. The closet was almost as big as Ainsley’s childhood room. The room itself was expansive.

It was huge. And lonely.

Her face started to fall, as the realization came. But she was dragged back into the moment when her mother mumbled something. It was too soft for her to hear. Ainsley took off her mother’s shoes and bent lower, her forehead creasing. “What?” she asked.

Her mother repeated herself, only the tiniest bit louder. Some of her words were lost into her pillow.

But Ainsley understood her, all the same.

“I wan’ to have a funeral for him…” her mother sighed tearfully.

Ainsley was shocked. She was certain she’d heard her wrong. For almost five full seconds of silence, all she could do was stare at her, her mouth hanging open a little. “You…what?” she rasped eventually.

“A funeral…he deserves…a funeral…”

Ainsley’s mouth suddenly tasted horrible. She choked back a swallow and shook her head. She made sure her voice was firm, but she was well aware of how thick it suddenly was, too. “Malcolm isn’t dead.” She accidentally ended up snapping this, in her haste to get out the thought. Her mother’s eyes were closed, though, and she said nothing. Still, Ainsley covered her up. “We don’t need to have a funeral— he’s not dead. He’s coming back. You’re just upset. And drunk. And tired.”

Jessica just sighed again. She didn’t say anything.

Ainsley made sure she was alright. She got her a glass of water, figuring she would need that when she woke up, and then she turned off the lights. She got everything in order…yet still, she hesitated at the door. She stared into her mother’s room – it was such a big room, for one person, it was so lonely – feeling her heart sink. Her hand tightened, where it rested on the doorknob. She still had that foul taste in her mouth, and her stomach was still twisting into knots.

She repeated herself, into the darkness. “Malcolm isn’t dead.”

Her mother was asleep. All she received was silence.

It just made her certainty even more flimsy.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“What!?” he demanded.

“I’m just _looking into _it, nothing is set in stone yet.”

“You _can’t,” _Gil practically spat.

Jessica regarded him coldly. Her voice was flat when she rasped: “I absolutely can.”

“He hasn’t even been missing for a year, you can’t have a _funeral for him!” _he sounded sick.

Jessica was keeping herself terrifyingly calm, despite the conversation they were having. Gil was the opposite— they’d barely even strayed into this dangerous territory, and yet he was already losing a grip on his cool. Ainsley was standing on the other side of the room, completely silent, her reddened eyes going from one speaker to the other, as if it was a tennis match. “Think of all the other victims.” Her voice was soft, only in the effort to keep her emotions from flaring out. She chose every word carefully. “That Kaelyn girl lasted less than three months. Look at all the injuries she had, _just_ in that short amount of time.”

“That— that doesn’t _mean _anything!” Gil objected. In the shock of this sudden proposal, he was stuttering and stumbling over his words. He was barely getting his head wrapped around it. “Malcolm said it himself— it’s always different! Just because she couldn’t last doesn’t mean Malcolm can’t! He _knows _what’s happening, unlike them— he can _tell _what he needs to do. He’s _strong, _he’s _capable— why _do you think he’s not strong enough to make it back to us?”

She looked up at this, scowling at him suddenly. “Don’t you _dare _even _imply _that I don’t have faith in my son,” she snarled, anger sparking off of her.

But Gil’s was fit to match. “You want a funeral— that’s admitting you don’t think he’s still fighting!”

“It has been _ten months,” _she hissed. _“Ten. _When Kaelyn Foster barely made _three_, and was found with— with her body _mutilated!” _The word was practically sobbed out. “I don’t want to think about my son being—” She broke off and had to start over. “_You_ of all people know how this works— you of all people understand how _unlikely it is _that he’s…”

“No. _No_, Malcolm is still fighting, he’s _still fighting, _and he’s going to get _back to us—!”_

_“No he isn’t, Gil!” _she snapped. “You’ve been running into walls ever since you _got _this case— I have hired private investigator upon private investigator, and _still_, there’s been absolutely nothing! Nobody wants Malcolm to be alive more than I do, but at this point anyone could see that we’re not going to be able to get him back, like this! And that if he could have gotten back to us, he would have, by now!”

Gil shook his head. “He called me,” he reminded, though he hated to. “He _called_ me, only a _few months ago,_ he was _alive, _he was still _fighting, _he—”

“He called you for help and you were too late, _again!” _she yelled, before she could stop herself. He jerked backward, like he was slapped. There was the smallest sense of regret in her eyes when she saw his reaction, but she stayed leaning into her anger. She kept speaking through clenched teeth. “He needed your help ten months ago and you did _nothing. _He managed to _call you three months ago, and you _still_ couldn’t do anything for him!”_

_“I’m doing everything I can!” _This yell was less angry than it was desperate.

_“And it’s _still not good enough!” she screamed. Vehemence was coming back into her eyes, now. _“Nothing you have done for my son has been enough.” _In contrast how she was just a second ago, these words were a growl. Her voice practically shook with rage. “I have been waiting almost a _year _for you to do _something _for him, and you have done _nothing _but disappoint.”

Ainsley took a few steps forward, flaring. “Mom, _stop. _That’s not fair, you can’t—”

“I want _closure_.” Jessica ignored her. “I want closure. For _my son.” _She could barely get it out, it was so choked. Her lips were trembling. “He’s _my _son,” she spat, after a small pause. “_Mine. _He isn’t yours, he never _was.” _Gil’s eye twitched. He locked his jaw back more, and clenched his hands at his sides. _“I _get to make this choice. _Not _you. I’ve tried to hang onto the hope that he would somehow survive it, despite the fact that _none _of the other victims had in less than a _quarter _of the time…but…especially after what you told me about that phone call…” Her lips trembled again. Her eyes became raw again, as did her voice. “Gil…you can’t _seriously _think he’s still alive…” she breathed.

“I _do,” _he snapped immediately.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. A tear ran down her cheek. “No…no, you _don’t.”_

“He’s _going_ to come back— he’s managed to stay alive this _entire time _so he can get back to us!” His breathing was picking up. “You _can’t_ give up on him— _not _when he’s not giving up on us!”

“Gil…it’s been _ten months,” _she repeated slowly. “Kaelyn couldn’t last _three.” _

“Malcolm is _stronger,” _he hissed through his teeth. “Malcolm is stronger than _all of those_ people put together.”

“You don’t believe that,” she whispered, all her anger gone, now.

Gil said nothing. His throat was too hot.

Ainsley couldn’t say anything either. At this point, she didn’t know who to side with. And that terrified her.

Jessica looked back down at the table. At all the pamphlets that had caused Gil to react like this in the first place. Informational brochures and website print-outs of all the funeral homes in New York. All the pricings for coffins and options for tombstone engravings. Her expression was heavy. “I’m just looking…” she repeated, just as softly. Gil couldn’t stomach the sight of all the papers. He had to look away. But that didn’t protect him from having to listen to how beaten-down and hopeless she was when she repeated a third time, the softest of all: “I’m just looking…”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Noah sighed, getting out of his car and heading up the road, to the one he’d pulled over. He hated nights like these. The nights were all you did was sit on the side of a road or drive aimlessly, just looking for someone purely in the effort to ruin their night and give them a ticket for something stupid_. _It dragged, not to mention the fact that everyone got royally pissed at you, which, they usually had a right to be. At least with _this, _though, he felt a little better about it. Dude was going sixty-seven in a thirty. He had to chill out.

He walked over to the window and knocked on it. They rolled it down slowly. He was already talking before it was halfway down. “License and registration, please.”

They didn’t say anything. Getting a good first look at him, Noah’s eyebrows were knitting a little. This guy didn’t look so great. It looked like his hair was a mess, and he was stiff, on-edge. He was studying his steering wheel, not even looking at him. He took his time to answer. “I don’t have them…” He barely heard him in the first place, his voice was so low.

His suspicion grew. “Social security?” he prompted. This time the guy didn’t offer anything at all. He kept staring at the steering wheel, like his life depended on it. Noah was almost surprised it didn’t burst into flames, he was looking at it so hard. When he got nothing, it became obvious to him that something was wrong here. “Name and date of birth.” He didn’t even ask, this time. All the politeness in his voice was gone.

The only sound was his running engine. They said nothing.

Noah scowled, taking a step back. “Sir, step out of the vehicle.” They were a statue. He was pretty sure he hadn’t blinked once, this entire exchange. _“Now.” _They couldn’t hesitate for much longer. Noah’s glare was only getting worse, but at least after some time the man complied. He got out of his car and shut the door. Noah sized him up, looking him from head to toe. He was wearing an unbuttoned long-sleeved shirt over a t-shirt, both of which were half tucked in. It looked like they’d worn this outfit multiple days, that or they’d just had one _hell _of a day. There were stains of all kinds on the shirt. Mostly it was obvious in the shirt underneath. One knee was ripped open on his jeans. His shoes looked worn.

But it was his eyes that were catching him off-guard. He was staring straight ahead with absolutely nothing in his stare. Noah looked down and caught the fact his hands were shaking. “Sir, do you know why I pulled you over tonight?” At the question, the man just shook his head once. Noah started to frown, glancing back at his car. He cleared his throat. “Do you know how fast you were going?” Again, all he got was a tense, singular shake of the head. He prompted: “Sir, what had you in such a hurry?”

His voice was so soft he hardly even moved his lips to get it out. “Had to get home,” he breathed.

There were red flags everywhere. “Where do you live?” They were out pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Or as close as you could get. He’d purposefully come here just so he wouldn’t have anyone to pull over in the first place— where was this guy headed? He waited, but the man said absolutely nothing. He was just getting stiffer and stiffer. Noah walked closer. “Have you been drinking tonight, sir?”

“I just have to get home,” he whispered again. His voice had a vague quality to it.

_“Why?” _he pressed. His eyes…there was something wrong with his eyes. What _was _it, though?

They were mute.

“What’s at home?” he prompted. “What’s so important you drive more than twice the speed limit?”

Nothing.

He looked at his hair. It was an absolute mess. It was brown.

He looked at his eyes again. Ignoring their creepy vacancy. There was something _else_ about them…

Something other than that…something…like…

Their color. In the glare of headlights, he could see. They were gray.

Brown hair. Gray eyes.

He remembered the vague warning they’d gotten a while back. _Quite _a while back. He was actually shocked he remembered it in the first place. _Be on the lookout for a guy with brown hair and gray eyes. It’s all we got on him, but that’s what the victim said on his phone call. It’s the closest thing to a description we got. _He remembered scoffing, thinking to himself that that wasn’t much to go off of. Now, his jaw was locking back and his eyes were narrowing. He twisted his head to speak into his radio on his shoulder, mumbling that he needed backup. Then he looked back at the man, all his friendliness vanishing. “Sir, you’re going to come with me.”

He reached out with one hand, using the other to go to his waist and get out his cuffs.

The very second he touched him was when the man threw his first punch.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“Mm…hello?”

“Get in the car.”

“Dani…? What— it’s one in the—”

_“Gil. _I’m outside, get out here, _now.”_

“Why, what’s…what’s going—?”

“They got him. They _just _got him.”

“It— …they…they got him…?”

_“Gil. Car. Now! Or I’m driving without you!”_

“You said I was—”

“I _know _what I said! Now I’m saying something else! Are you _coming_ or not!?”

He was already hanging up the phone before she could ask. Already flying for the door.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The three of them bypassed everyone else, ignoring whoever tried to step in their way. It was an hour’s drive, they were almost certain they would have missed the entire thing, and yet when they showed up, the small group of cops that were waiting for them had nothing to report. Nothing but a name— Winston Price. They had his name and his residence; they’d already sent people out to search his house top to bottom. Nothing had showed up, and Winston wasn’t uttering a word. He was just staring straight ahead, silent, like he had on the road. They’d asked him about Malcolm every which way. Nothing.

Dani went in. Gil and JT followed, but stayed near the door. Dani was the only person who was level-headed enough to do the talking. The other two were told to hang back, and they weren’t about to fight her. Even upon their entrance, Winston didn’t look at any of them. Not even when Dani approached. She took a seat across the table from him and started to speak anyway, though. She didn’t beat around the bush. They’d had a year of that already. “Winston…we know it was you,” she stated, keeping her voice dull because at least then she wouldn’t scream.

Hatred was burning under her skin as she stared at this man, but she was doing well in hiding the fact. As much as she could, anyway. He said nothing. He kept staring at the corner. “If it’s _not _you…you would have said something by now. To be falsely accused of fiv— _four_ murders? And a kidnapping, on top of that?” She’d had to correct herself. Gil stiffened with the tiny stumble. “Anyone else would be falling over themselves to prove that they were innocent. But _you_ haven’t said a single word. You’ve just _sat_ there…haven’t even asked for a lawyer yet. That doesn’t seem a bit suspicious to you?”

Still, he was a blank slate.

Dani tried to think. She glanced back at the others.

Gil’s arms were crossed, his hands curled into fists so hard his nails were digging into his skin. His jaw was locked back. Unspeakable pain and fury in his eyes as he stared at this man and remembered the screams he had heard on the phone. He’d screeched that he’d kill him— that the _first thing he’d do _was kill him, and _oh, _was it _so _hard to stand there and do nothing. Especially when he just _sat there. He _was the only person that knew where Malcolm was— catching him and getting nothing but radio silence was pointless. Pure frustration was making his eyes prick with tears. He could barely breathe around it.

He imagined what Malcolm would do, if he was standing at his shoulder. If things were different…_Malcolm_ would be able to get the information out of him. His heart ripped open with pain. Unspeakable, horrible pain. He thought of how bright Malcolm’s eyes had been, how excited his voice had grown. _He wants to brag, _he’d said, exhilarated over having finally cracked it. He’d been so excited…that was the last time he’d seen him— working through the case. Working through the very case he’d become a part of. They’d said goodbye that night and Malcolm had smiled at him. He’d smiled back. Not knowing.

_He wants to brag…that he made it father than them._

A year. Gil had missed his kid for an entire _year._

Now he was close— Malcolm was _so _close…

What were they supposed to do? What would _Malcolm _do?

It hit him like a ton of bricks.

Dani was about to ask another question, when Gil spoke up quietly. “It’s not him…” Dani whirled around, angry at first, because he’d been told not to talk, but then confused as to what he’d said. But Gil wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the man as emptily as the man was staring off to the side. If he actually did look at him, he would lose whatever control he was hanging onto by a thread. His voice was just a rasp. His eyes gleamed harshly in the light, thanks to his tears. But despite all that, and despite her look, he repeated himself. “It’s not him. This isn’t the guy.” Each word fell heavy, like rocks.

The man blinked slowly.

He could hear Malcolm in his ear. Hear him cheering him on, see his ecstatic smile. _Yes! _Yes, _keep going! Exactly! _“This can’t be the same person who did all that. He never could,” Gil forced out. The man turned. Slowly, he looked at Gil. His gray eyes held nothing at all in them. It was like staring into a pit where you couldn’t see the bottom. It would send chills down anyone’s spine, but Gil wasn’t focusing enough for that. He was just thinking of Malcolm. Just seeing him as he’d gestured to the board, explained it all. “Look at him…he couldn’t do all that.” Everything he said was robotic. It was taking everything in him not to scream. To _throw _himself at him, to punch him over and over and over again, until he talked. But he knew he couldn’t. He knew that wouldn’t do anything.

_This _would.

“Someone like this couldn’t do anything like that,” he rasped.

The man started to glare at him.

At first, JT had looked as confused as Dani had. But now, he understood. He looked at their suspect and narrowed his eyes, using some of his actual disdain when he said: “Gil’s right.” The man looked at him, now. Faster, this time. JT fixed him with a scowl. “This can’t be him. He couldn’t even take anyone in a fight. He wouldn’t be a match for Malcolm.” He was beginning to scowl, now. JT insisted: “I could break him like a toothpick.” The way he’d said this, it was clear that he would love nothing more than to have that opportunity.

“No you couldn’t.” Winston’s objection was flat.

JT took a threatening step forward, his hands clenching into fists. The man only got angrier.

It had taken her a moment, but now Dani’s eyes were flashing. She looked between him and Gil, and understood. When she turned back to Winston, she sounded much more dismissive. “I guess not…” she mused. She started to get up. “Regardless. Obviously, he’s not gonna talk. I _thought _he didn’t fit the profile…we’re looking for someone a lot stronger. Let’s tell the guys outside they jumped the gun.”

She barely took one step for the door, before the man was speaking in a low hiss. “I _am _strong.”

She didn’t even glance at him as she kept walking. Though her voice was flippant, her expression was anything but as she stared tensely at Gil. “Well, sure— but you’re not who we’re looking for. You’re not the right fit.”

He objected. She stopped. Listened, as he growled: “I _am.” _

Dani glanced at Gil again. They stared at one another desperately for a couple of seconds, before she wiped it all away and turned. Her eyes narrowed. She walked back to the table and sat down. She leaned forward, meeting his hard stare with a glare ten times as harsh. All the hostility rushed back into her voice when she simply rivaled: “Then _prove _it.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Just like last time, the entire drive Gil’s heart was hammering in his chest. His hands were shaking and his breaths were stuttering. And just like last time, the very second they were pulling to a stop, he was kicking the car door open and sprinting for the building. It was another run-down, empty place. An old factory that had long since decayed, as attested to by the ivy and other foliage taking over its brick exterior. It was huge. He could be anywhere. Gil started sprinting as soon as his feet touched the ground. He’d never ran this fast before in his entire life. Dani was right on his heels, and so was JT, along with the others that had been dispatched to go along. They all ran, but Gil was fastest. He was at the head.

The second they got inside, they all split up. Dani and JT tore for the far corner, to get upstairs. Everyone else started to spread out on the level they were on, and Gil started running for the stairs behind the two. Only, nearly tripping over himself, he took the way down. He was sure a couple other people were following, but he wasn’t thinking coherently anymore. All his thought was, was fear. That he wouldn’t find him, that they would be too late, that this was a lie and he wasn’t even here in the first place. The only thing that actually made sense in his head was endless, repeated begging. _Please, please please please…_everything else was just pure panic.

He almost tripped when he reached the floor, but he caught himself at the last second. _“Malcolm!” _He started screaming for him as loud as he could. He was looking everywhere— every single inch of the dark place. His hands were shaking so much he could barely hold his flashlight. _“Malcolm!” _Everyone had spread out. He ran, whirling every which way. His eyes were stinging. His voice cracked when he screeched at the top of his lungs: _“Malcolm!” _Yell _back— _why wasn’t he yelling back!? Why wasn’t he yelling back for help, where was he— what if he wasn’t even here, what if he couldn’t even find him!?

_“Malcolm!” _There was a stitch in his side as he reached a wall and started running down the hallway that branched off. There were all kinds of doors. He was throwing them open, to no avail. _“Malcolm!” _He could hear everyone else searching. The abandoned building was now alive with everyone screaming the same exact thing. They weren’t getting answers either. The longer they were just met with silence, the more Gil’s chest squeezed. He could barely breathe enough at this point to yell for him. He struggled anyway. _“Malcolm!” _

Every room he ran into, he was looking it over from ceiling to floor, trying not to miss anything. He was frantic. It felt like years to him, but in reality it couldn’t have been very long at all. But with every single second that passed, his hands were trembling more and more. He was already reaching the point where he could barely grab a doorknob hard enough to even twist it. He had to fumble with it, eventually having to stuff the flashlight under his arm so he could grab it with both hands just to twist. He stumbled through, dropping the flashlight. He nearly tripped reaching down to get it again.

_“Malcolm!” _The door had opened up in a much larger room, so large it seemed cavernous in the dark— it the other half of the warehouse’s basement, he was assuming. Scattered around, were remnants of what this place had once been. There were stacks of carboard boxes that were rotting away, and row after row of old storage shelves that were bending with age. Gil started running through them, still trying to look everywhere, still screaming for him. He shoved aside the boxes that could have been hiding something, he was shoving aside old wood pallets that were leaning against the wall. He started to tear through the basement, to no avail. Every failed attempt made him gasp harder, made him break a little more. He was losing it. He was losing it _fast._

He reached a dead-end— he hit a wall and _still, _nothing. Maybe Dani had found him and he just hadn’t heard her yell. Maybe the others that were following him, and double-checking every spot he’d already run through had gotten something. Maybe, maybe, maybe. He did a full circle, sucking in a harsh breath and screaming as loud as he possibly could, his throat ripping in pain: _“Malcolm!” _He waited for a split second. When he still got nothing, he resolved to leave the basement and search upstairs instead. He started to turn, bracing himself to run all the way back.

When there was the tiniest of sounds.

It was practically nothing, but it was screeching him to a stop. He froze, all the blood in his body turning to ice. At first he couldn’t even move; he just stared straight ahead into the dark. He couldn’t even breathe.

Then the sound came again.

A weak…terrified…whimper.

Gil spun around, his eyes flying wide. He looked everywhere, his heart beginning to pound all over again. “Malcolm?” he gasped. Again, he heard the whimper. He spun towards it. His eyes landed on something against the wall. He’d looked right over it when he was rushing in, but now his flashlight beam outlined it against the dark. It was an old tarp. It was in tatters, and at first glance, you wouldn’t even think it was covering up anything. But no— he heard the whimper again, in an even higher pitch than all the rest. It was coming from underneath it.

He dropped the flashlight. Thankfully it fell still pointed in the direction of the tarp— it still provided the right amount of light. “Malcolm!” Gil ran over and dropped to his knees, ignoring the pain that shot up his legs when he did. The whimper came again, and now that he was closer, he was able to recognize the voice. Against himself, a beam was splitting over his face. His tears finally overflowed and started streaming down his cheeks. He grabbed the flimsy plastic and started laughing in elated relief. An entire year of sleepless nights, of regretting, of crying, it had all lead up to this. There was finally an _end. _He tore the cover off, crying and laughing at the same time as he started to yell: _“Malcolm, we’re here, we found—!” _

The instant he ripped the tarp away and saw, everything was screeching to a stop. His eyes were getting even wider, his stomach fell away. His mouth froze, halfway open in what would surely have been a scream of horror had his lungs not decided to suddenly stop working. He couldn’t do anything. He could just stare, frozen in place and in horror. Now that the cover had been ripped away and light was suddenly shining right in his eyes, Malcolm started whimpering even louder, sounding even more terrified. Gil practically couldn’t hear anymore, though. Everything was just static.

He hadn’t noticed the tarp in the first place— it looked like it hadn’t been covering anything. It practically _hadn’t _been. Malcolm was _nothing_. He was just a skeleton, and barely even that. He looked exactly like Kaelyn had— Gil could see every single ridge of every single bone. His cheekbones were sharply outlined on his face, and his eyes were sunken into his skull. He was wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing the day Gil had last seen him. They were completely ruined. He didn’t have his jacket at all anymore. His shirt was in tatters; once upon a time it had been white and clean, but now it was anything but. The cloth that was still intact was dyed dark red or purple from old blood. It was _covered_ in what looked like old, dried vomit, and other kinds of stains that Gil didn’t even _want_ to think about their origin, if he could even fathom it at all. The clothes were pooling around him now, he had lost so much weight. He looked like a child that was trying to imitate their dad and wear his clothes— seven sizes too big.

His injuries…Gil was trying to register them all at once but it would be impossible for someone to try to triage them. It was _all _horrible. His left hand was twisted and clawed in a gruesome position; it wasn’t moving at all, but Gil wasn’t even focusing on his hand. His eyes were drawn to his arm— it was broken at a right angle. A _severe _right angle…Gil’s stomach heaved when he realized that the bone had broken right through the skin. He could see it, protruding four or five inches as a modest estimation. The injury there was sickening to see. The wound was infected— it barely even took a second to realize that. _So many _of his wounds where infected. Encrusted with pus, the skin around its ragged edges black and necrotizing.

He took all of these details in quickly, in less than three seconds though it felt like forever. He knew there were far more injuries he just couldn’t see or didn’t have time to look for, but once the initial shock died away he was wrenched back into the present. Malcolm was gasping. He was hyperventilating and choking, so shallowly and so quickly that it was hardly moving his chest at all. Gil choked in horror when he realized Malcolm’s tie had been tied into a tight knot around his throat. The other end was tied in just as secure a knot around his right wrist, which was laying limp on the ground. The pressure from the knot was bad enough, but this way there was guaranteed tension. And though Malcolm was struggling to breathe, he wasn’t moving his arm at all. He couldn’t.

_“Malcolm!” _The name ripped itself out of his mouth in a broken, gut-wrenching sob. Gil’s hands were shaking harder than ever, but he immediately set to work getting the knot around his neck undone. Malcolm whimpered again. His eyes were huge, but his stare was completely blank. His only reaction to Gil at all was his terrified chokes that only grew louder and more scared when Gil started to touch him. Gil leaned over, putting his face over Malcolm’s as he tugged and pulled. “Malcolm— Malcolm, _look at me!” _He didn’t— he couldn’t. He just cried out weakly, a pathetic scream leaking out of his mouth when Gil shouted. The sound broke Gil’s heart— shattered it completely. He started sobbing, trying to look at the rest of him as he got the tie undone. His sobbing only grew worse.

There were knives plunged into his abdomen. One all the way to the hilt, the other stuck a little bit less than halfway down. The blades were blocking most of the blood flow. He wasn’t even breathing hard enough for his stomach to move along with his upper chest, which was good, but Gil started crying even more when he saw. It had taken them an hour to get there. It had taken them some time to get the location from Winston and to rush there. Winston had been gone in the first place— who knew how long the knives had stayed there, stabbed in his sides. _Both _of his ankles looked like they’d been broken.

Gil ripped his eyes away, looking back up at Malcolm and forcing himself to stay there. He couldn’t stomach seeing the rest of it— it was painful enough just looking at him in the face. There were lacerations everywhere, a particularly deep one underneath his jaw. He’d finally gotten the knot undone on the tie, but Malcolm didn’t even seem to be the tiniest bit helped by the fact— his still gasped, breathing fifty times a minute, his eyes staying terrified and unfocused. When he whimpered, his mouth opened just enough for Gil to see that the inside of it was dyed dark red, either from active bleeding or from blood that had dried there and stained his teeth. His face was so bloody and dirty and grimy, it was impossible to tell whether _any _of the blood was active or if it was old.

“Malcolm!” He was sobbing so hard he could barely get anything out. Malcolm just whimpered again. He could hear yelling— he knew everyone else would be there soon. He couldn’t see anything through his tears, which was better than the alternative. He couldn’t stomach seeing anything else. Noticing any more details. Seeing how stained and disgusting the floor was he was crouching on, seeing the crazed, terrified look in Malcolm’s huge, dilated pupils. He couldn’t bring himself to look at how dirty his hair was— that in some parts, it had been ripped right out of his skull. He couldn’t notice any of it. All he could do was cry, and beg him to look at him. “Malcolm— Malcolm, _look _at me, it’s okay, I’ve got you!”

Malcolm didn’t react. The more he spoke, the worse he got. He couldn’t scream, the way Gil knew he wanted to. The noise that he could get out, though, was infinitely worse. It was a horrible mix of screaming, and hissing, like he wanted to screech but he didn’t have the vocal chords. It was like nails on a chalkboard, like a small animal slowly suffocating. Now that the tie was off of him, the noise was constant. Malcolm was using the meager air he could take in and just immediately letting it go in that terrified, choking hiss that only got louder.

Gil had no idea whether or not there were injuries there – there were bound to be – but regardless, he held Malcolm’s face in his hands, crying even harder when he realized how cold he felt. “Malcolm— Malcolm it’s okay,” he hushed in between his sobs. Malcolm didn’t react to his whispered comforts. He just kept hissing, kept choking. Gil leaned even closer, his shoulders shaking as he looked at the terrified, blank look on Malcolm’s face. “Mal— _shhh, kid, it’s just me, it’s Gil,” _he cried. He felt his head twitch in his hands. Just a sudden, subtle jerk. It was all he could do, to try and get away. It tore him apart. _“Kid, please— please look at me, _look _at me!” _

He heard voices behind him. They’d rode up armed with an ambulance. They were screaming for the paramedics. He didn’t look away from Malcolm. He wanted to pick him up. He wanted to hug him to his chest, to squeeze him as hard as he could, he wanted to hold his head and calm him down and whisper that everything was going to be okay. But all he could do was sob, hunched over him. Dani and JT were standing a little off to the side, looking with undisguised horror at the scene that was in front of them. Malcolm was crying, now. Or, that was the closest word he could pin it to. He had no idea what to call the pathetic, hitched squeaks and coughs that were barely getting out of him. It was the worst thing he had ever heard in his entire life.

“Shhh, you’re okay.” Gil’s voice was thick, and just a tearful mumble. He’d leaned down, his forehead almost touching his. There were voices behind him; he felt a hand on his shoulder. They were trying to get him away. Rationally, he knew he had to move. But that irritational side of him won over again. He couldn’t move— it had been a year since he had seen him and now that he was here and he saw how horrible it was, he _couldn’t _leave. He _couldn’t. _“You’re okay, you’re okay I’m here Gil’s here Gil’s got you everything’s gonna be fine…” He was rambling, insane. Only crying harder when Malcolm still yelped, still moved his head in that feeble yank. “You’re okay kid everything’s going to be okay I promise kid we’re gonna get you out of this, we’re gonna—”

He cut short when all of a sudden the terrified squeaking choked itself off. His eyes flew wide and he pulled back to see that Malcolm had gone completely stiff. His eyes were still huge, still stricken like a deer in headlights, but now his mouth was closed tight. His body barely moved but his shoulders were jerking just the tiniest bit, up and down. It was the biggest, and practically only, indication that something had changed. But no sooner did Gil realize it, did the paramedics run out of patience. Seeing this, they reached out and shouldered him away. Gil fell back. The medical team was yelling, but it was all a thousand miles away. He just watched in horror as, rushing to get him up on the stretcher and put a collar around his abused neck, Malcolm kept jerking and choking. He saw a thick trail of blood drool out the side of his mouth and down his chin.

He started to get up and run after them, but the second he tried, his legs were giving out. He couldn’t support himself. He fell in a heap on the ground. And from there, he couldn’t get up. From there, he just curled up and started screaming. He couldn’t stop himself. He sobbed and let loose keening, guttural, wail after wail. Stuck on the dirty disgusting floor of the abandoned factory Malcolm had been stuck in for who knew how long, suffering day in and day out in ways he couldn’t even begin to imagine.

He remembered what Jessica had said to him.

_Nothing you have done for my son has ever been good enough._

She was right. He owed Malcolm everything. Malcolm was the reason he’d gotten to celebrate so many wedding anniversaries with Jackie. He owed him the fact that he was breathing right now, even if that air was just released in the forms of sobs. Malcolm had given him everything, and the _one_ time he’d truly needed him, he had _failed him. _The thought was relentless, running circles in his head. Dani had flown down to the ground beside him. JT had sprinted away to catch up with the paramedics, but she stayed, putting an arm around Gil and trying to talk him down. But he wasn’t even listening.

All he could think about was how one day he’d been standing outside and had turned, smiling affectionately as he saw Malcolm and Ainsley running up towards him with their backpacks on, just out of school, grinning wide. How he’d walked into the kitchen one night and realized Malcolm had come over because he was upset and he was now baking an apple pie with Jackie, and smiling. How he’d awkwardly asked Gil if he had any tips about shaving because he had no idea. How, on his twenty-first birthday, Gil had taken him out to have his first beer with him.

How he’d looked at him almost tearfully.

_When my father was arrested, you helped to fill that void. You showed me what a good man looks like. What a good man is._

He’d dismissed him. He hadn’t said anything.

_Why_ had he not said anything?

He kept sobbing, his crying echoing and bouncing off the walls. Dani was crying too, she was just struggling to remain strong for him. She rubbed his back, trying to grab onto his arm and pull him back up. “He’s gonna— he’s gonna be fine, Gil,” she choked, struggling to say anything that might make him feel better. “They’re getting him into the ambulance, they’re taking him to a hospital, it’s— it’s going be fine, we need to be okay. We need to be okay, for him, right? He _needs _us to be okay.” She wiped her eyes, sniffing. She made her voice harder, so it might get through to him. “You need to get up, he needs you. Gil— did you hear me? He _needs you, _Gil, you _have _to pull it together!”

He just shook his head, gasping in another stuttering breath before he sobbed: “I let him down! I let him down, he needed me and I let him down! He _needed _me…oh _God…why!?” _Dani cringed away from the screech. Gil gasped in again. He started sobbing under his breath again, mostly to himself. “Don’t take him from me, too! _God, please don’t him from me too, don’t take him, please don’t take him!”_

The others were leaving them behind. They couldn’t stick around. Dani wanted to rush after them, too. She wanted to stay right beside Malcolm, she wanted to make sure he was okay. But she stayed with Gil. She would stay here with him despite the gore around them, until he was okay enough to calm down and breathe. Then they would both follow Malcolm to the hospital, and go from there. Every inch of her was dying to skip that part and just run _now. _She had to wait. She had to be here.

Gil had been there for her when nobody else was.

So, crying herself as she listened to his brokenhearted wailing, she stayed, moving to just hug him in silence. Holding him against everything else and letting him cry for right now. Knowing that he needed it. That they _both _did. Sitting with him to be his rock, however unsteady she felt, herself.

Staring emptily into the same exact dark that Malcolm must have stared into for ages.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last sort of introductory chapter; I know it's a lot, but the bulk of the story was originally based around everything that will happen after this chapter. This is where the emotion will be and the recovery and the parts I like writing the most, really haha. So thank you for everyone reading so far! I'm super excited to write everything from here on out!  
And again, I'm writing this fic during the show so some stuff is kind of losing its ability to line up. I might go back and tweak chapter one to take Jin out, and try to do some damage control. But none of that really affects this chapter I don't think. So it's just something to keep in mind. I'm doing my best! c': 
> 
> Also...it's started to become a bit of concern for me about whether or not to keep the length of my chapters the way they are. I write more words in one chapter than most of the completed fics in this fandom-- I'm not saying more is better at all, but I AM wondering if this fandom just...doesn't LIKE longer fics? I've just noticed some discrepancy and I'm trying to figure out whether or not there's something I can do. Writing these super long chapters is something I like to do, but it does get draining and if the fandom as a whole just doesn't like to READ the longer chapters and leave feedback on them, maybe I should think about cutting back.  
So I would like some feedback on that part, as well. I've been debating, trying to think of what I could do. 
> 
> Anyway! Please notice the tags. I've changed the rating just to be safe. Obviously this is a kidnapping fic so there will be violence; I won't ever put much detail at all in the other areas, though, besides a mention or a reference. But I have tagged it to make people aware it will come up. I hope you like this chapter!! And if you did I hope I can hear from you in a comment! c:

It was five in the morning, by the time they got to the hospital. Dani had been the one to call her. She’d offered little detail…she’d claimed that it was because there was no detail yet to give in the first place, but Jessica understood what it _actually _meant. It meant something horrible had happened. She had felt such an overwhelming sense of relief when she’d heard the words ‘We found Malcolm’ that at first, she’d almost dropped the phone— she’d almost fainted. The first question she managed to breathe out, was whether or not he was okay. She’d gotten her answer, in the hesitation that followed. She got the answer in the clipped, more choked: ‘He was rushed to the hospital, I…don’t have a lot of information besides that.’

She heard the actual answer, in the deflection. In Dani’s rush to hang up.

Something was wrong. Something was very, _very _wrong.

She’d called her driver and had him floor it to Ainsley’s. She’d burst in without knocking. She hadn’t spared a single second— she had rushed to Ainsley’s bed and grabbed her arm, shaking it and pulling it at the same time. She’d felt her mouth moving, she’d felt herself yelling, but she hadn’t actually heard what was coming out. She must have gotten the point across, though. Ainsley didn’t brush her hair, she didn’t brush her teeth, she just whirled for the closet and threw on the first thing her fingers touched. They were out the door again in less than four minutes.

Right after they’d gotten into the car, Ainsley had gasped: “Is he okay?”

Jessica had forced out: “They said they don’t know.”

That had killed any further conversation that might have taken place.

The entire hour had passed in tense, apprehensive silence. Ainsley bounced her leg, Jessica kept her fists clenched. Inwardly, they were both thinking of what would be waiting for them. They both hoped against hope that they would get there and everything would be okay. Malcolm would be there and he would be battered and bruised, but he would light up the second he saw them. He’d smile that rare smile they’d missed so dearly. They’d both rush to hug him, and this time he would have no problem with the barrage of affection. They’d try to tell him they were sorry but he would immediately tell them both it was okay. They would sit at his bedside and refuse to move; they would to be able to go home later this very day, happy and relieved. They would be so relieved that everything was over. That everything was okay.

But they both knew that that wasn’t what was going to happen. Not at all.

The car pulled up to the curb of the hospital and they didn’t wait. Jessica was rushing out and through the automatic doors, and Ainsley was hard on her heels. They ran in through the emergency room doors. It was so early, the entire place was sparsely populated. They rushed up to the front desk and demanded to know where Malcolm Bright was. The nurse had checked, and informed them in a pleasant, reassuring voice that he had been taken down into emergency surgery. They’d been told that they were welcome to wait down in the waiting room they had specially made for worried family members like them.

Though they were willing to bet their entire fortune on the fact that this hospital had never once seen a family as distressed as _they _were.

They took the elevator to the ground floor. They’d thought before that the tension couldn’t get worse and yet here they were. They didn’t need to speak to make it clear— the words ‘emergency surgery’ were running through their heads over and over again. What did that mean? What were they _doing? _Was it dangerous? How bad was he? What were they doing right now? Could they check on his status or were they forced to just wait for the surgeon to decide when to fill them in on what was going on?

The elevator doors opened, and they rushed out. It was down a winding hall but eventually, they reached it. The waiting room was painstakingly created to cater to the worried and weary. There were the normal waiting room amenities, like the chairs lined up together and the tables in the corners. The television was on and nobody must have felt like changing the channel, because all that was playing was the hospital’s looping ‘calming channel’ with nothing but music and soothing pictures. There was a little water fountain bubbling down the wall, to add to it, and a beverage station against the wall. The room was practically _begging_ you to calm down.

Their eyes immediately went to the only other people. Dani was standing with her back against the wall, her arms crossed and her expression troubled as she stared at the ground. Gil was sitting in one of the chairs— Jessica was stopped short by the look that was on the man’s face. He looked empty. He was staring at absolutely nothing, and though his expression was blank, it also somehow seemed to carry with it all the sorrow and regret the world had to offer. Despite the fact they came in, he didn’t look at them. Even when they rushed towards them, he was still preoccupied.

Jessica had never seen him look so lost.

“Gil!” He started to rouse, looking almost confused as he dragged his eyes up to meet hers. Ainsley was already tearing up when she saw the expression he was wearing. Her heart was already breaking, her stomach was already falling. But Jessica was resisting that tug. She felt it, in her gut: the ache of heartbreak and loss that was struggling to pull her down by the ankles. She was doing everything she could not to let it get the best of her. She was digging her fingers into the dirt, hanging onto the edge of the cliff. She looked at Gil now like he was her lifeline. Her hand to hold, to keep herself from falling. There was nothing but desperate hope on her face. “How…how was he? When you found him?”

The room was silent, save for the television and the fountain. Gil said nothing for ages. Jessica noticed that Dani was looking away from them, now. The younger woman’s expression was strained and drawn, her jaw locked back. Her eyes were bright with tears. Jessica looked back at Gil, her smile fracturing, but struggling to stay. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and although Jessica would never call herself religious, now, she found herself thinking hard to anyone that could possibly be listening. _Please…please, please. Please let him be okay. Please let him be okay, I beg of you…_

They were stuck like that— her waiting, and Gil staring at her with that same sorrowful confusion. He opened his mouth and let it hang open like that. She grew even more hopeful— smiled even wider, nodding her head a little, like she was encouraging him on. He tried. He was about to. But then he broke. His expression began to crumble, and he ducked his head, all the tears he’d finally stopped just a short while ago coming back.

Jessica’s stomach plummeted, as he began to sob.

He tried to stop himself, but he couldn’t. Not with that horrible image of Malcolm burned into his mind irrevocably. Every time it came back to him, it seemed like he found another thing wrong— another injury. They never ended. All he could hear was Malcolm’s terrified, choking hissing and screaming that amounted to nothing and yet were earsplittingly loud at the same time. How dirty and torn his clothes were, how much blood— dear _God, _there had been so much _blood. _Now it was rushing back, and seeing her look at him with so much vain hope was tearing him right back down. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at her; the guilt was too strong.

All he could do was hold his head in his hands, weakly forcing out between sobs: “I’m sorry…I’m _so _sorry, I— I’m sorry…” It was all he could say. He was a broken record. Ainsley’s eyes went huge. She started to adopt the same numbed look of horror that had been on Gil’s face when they had first come into the room. She had only seen Gil come apart like this once, and that was at Jackie’s funeral. Even then, he had had a dignified way to his mourning. He had stood with tears running down his cheeks, but a brave face, at the same time. _This…_she had never seen this before. The loud sobbing, his shaking shoulders, how loud his voice was, simply because it couldn’t contain his sorrow, his regret, his grief.

She felt like she was going to be sick.

Jessica’s hope was shattering to pieces. At first she could only stare at him the way a stranger might stare at someone who had suddenly begun to break down in front of them without warning. But then her lips began to tremble. She started to shake her head. “No…” Her voice was low— barely there. Dani looked at her, though her heart pained to, and started to push herself off the wall when she realized that she was staggering backwards. She looked like she was going to faint. Dani rushed to her side, grabbing her elbow without thinking to help her remain standing. She stumbled, but didn’t even acknowledge her help. 

She just stared at Gil with huge, horrified eyes. Shaking her head slowly and mumbling under her breath a numbed: “No…no, _no_…” Dani started to lead her backwards, to the nearest chair. The same moment she sat down, her breath was catching, a sound halfway between a gasp and a sob choking in her throat. Tears were rushing down her face despite the fact she was even blinking. Weakly, she tried to rasp: “He’s— …he’s…okay…isn’t he? He’s…going to be…”

Gil didn’t answer. He just kept crying.

Which, in a way, was an answer in itself.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Ainsley looked a mess. She hadn’t brushed her hair; she’d started to try and comb her fingers through it and make it look at least just the tiniest bit more presentable, but it was pretty much a losing battle. She’d given up after a while. She’d accidentally grabbed the jacket her mother had bought her that was too big on her. She’d thrown on jeans and a black t-shirt— now her jacket was just adding to her overall disheveled appearance by slipping off her shoulder frequently. It only took about forty-five minutes for her to realize her socks didn’t match.

Jessica was the same way. Ainsley couldn’t even remember the last time her mother had left the house without first making everyone stop so she could ‘make herself presentable.’ It took her fifteen minutes alone to decide which outfit would be the best for wherever it was she was going. Now, she wasn’t even wearing _makeup. _Her hair wasn’t made; eventually she’d roused enough to at least throw it up into a messy bun, but that was as much effort as she was making.

Neither of them cared at all about what they looked like. It was last on their list of priorities.

Nobody was daring to speak. Dani left a couple times, when JT called her for something, either asking her questions she needed to answer or filling her in on what was happening. She would always come back just as silent, giving nothing away. She knew that right now wasn’t the time. Nobody was even really looking at each other. Gil had calmed down again but he was back to staring blankly off into space, a horrible expression on his face that nobody could even really describe.

Hours passed, like that. Other people came and went. A man came in and paced back and forth for an hour. A surgeon came out and Ainsley barely had time to brighten up and stand from her chair, before he was going over to the man and grinning wide, informing him that his wife was just fine and the surgery had been a complete success. A woman came and sat in one of the far chairs, her hands clenched tightly. Jessica watched dully as another surgeon came out and sat beside her, reassuring that her son’s appendectomy had been a breeze, and that she had nothing to worry about.

They got nothing.

The waiting room had emptied save for them, again, when there was the sudden sound of a phone ringing. They all looked up, and to each other, but it was none of their cellphones. Gil’s eyes flickered to something behind Jessica. She turned, and realized the phone that was ringing was the hospital’s. The nurse sitting at the desk picked it up and murmured a low hello. Everyone was staring at her with hard intensity. None of them were breathing, when her eyes flickered to them. She continued to speak lowly. Jessica and Gil shared a fleeting, terrified glance.

She turned to the computer, giving occasional ‘mhm’s as she typed and clicked. She seemed to be looking for something, but eventually she found it. After a couple of moments, the nurse took the phone away from her ear and looked towards them again. None of them mistook the sympathy that was on her face. “Ainsley Whitly?” Ainsley stiffened at once. Jessica’s face fell, when she turned to look at her. She didn’t move. She just sat there, gripped with alarm. The nurse followed everyone else’s gaze, to realize who it was. Her sympathy just grew more apparent. “The surgeon would like to speak to you.”

“Me?” It took her a second just to find her voice again. She was too blank to think.

“You’re listed as his power of attorney, dear,” she said kindly. When Ainsley still just stared at her, she asked: “Do you know what that means?”

“I— yes, yes, I do,” she breathed, snapping herself back into reality. Jessica was wilting even more, but Ainsley tried to put it out of her mind. She forced herself to stand. It had been hours of not moving. She was stiff as she crossed the room to accept the phone. Everyone’s eyes were burning holes through her. She reached the desk and the nurse gave her an encouraging look. Her hand shook when she reached for it.

She put it up to her ear and hesitated. She closed her eyes and took in a slow breath. Her voice was small when she practically whispered: “Hello?”

“Ainsley Whitly.” The name came out in a relieved kind of laughter. She was surprised. The man on the other line sounded…younger than she thought he would be. He didn’t sound as grave as she’d anticipated, either. She wondered if that meant everything was okay…but if everything was okay, then why was it almost noon? It had almost been _six _hours of surgery. “I _am _speaking to Ainsley Whitly, correct?”

“Yes.” She’d gotten her voice back. “Yes, this is her, is— …is my brother okay?” Her voice broke.

There was a hesitation, and in that period of quiet, she heard him take in a slow breath, like he was bracing himself. Her heart twisted. “Well— first of all, I’m Doctor Kennedy Torres, I didn’t— _quite _have a moment to stop and meet you, but word on the street is you are my patient’s power of attorney, _so.” _There was another pause. She was biting down hard on her lower lip, already gripping the phone tighter. “Ainsley— can I call you Ainsley? Is that alright?”

It was strange. To have a conversation like this, as though they were shooting the breeze, when their situation was far removed from any sort of casualty. This man had her brother’s life in his hands. He was likely doing something right this second, having a nurse hold the phone for him on speaker as he worked. Otherwise, he would be out here. “Ainsley’s fine,” she murmured, wishing he would hurry up.

But her wish was quickly stomped down, the second he actually started to get to where she’d thought she wanted him. The second he was actually beginning, she was wishing he would go back to talking about things that didn’t matter. “Alright. Ainsley…” His voice was doing a 180. All the lightness and ease he’d started out with, was gone. The grim tone she’d expected in the first place was beginning to settle over it, instead. “I’m going to be honest with you,” he started slowly. “Because I think a situation like this requires honesty…I don’t want to sugarcoat anything— I wanna be straight with you. Alright?”

Her reply was barely audible. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Alright,” he repeated, in another sigh. There was the briefest of pauses, but it was the last one to have to suffer through. He committed himself to continuing, this time. “Your brother…he sustained a _lot _of trauma.” She closed her eyes, trying to remember how to breathe. “By the time he reached the hospital, he had gone into what’s called hypovolemic shock. He…was severely dehydrated and he’d lost a _substantial _amount of blood with all his injuries. When he _did _reach the ED, we lost his pulse.” A choke died in the back of Ainsley’s throat. She reached up to cover her mouth, her eyes beginning to sting with tears.

“The best course of action from that point when he failed to respond to CPR initially, was to take him in for an emergency thoracotomy, with cross-clamping of the aorta— it sounds scary and complicated…but we can do this kind of procedure to help revive patients. It helps get what blood they _have_ to the heart and the brain, which is what needs it the most; it also helped reduce the bleeding from his internal injuries so we had more of a chance to find the sources and stop it. Does that make sense?”

“You— you got him back, right?” she squeaked. “When his…is his…is his heart…okay, now?”

The others had long since left their chairs. They were crowded around her, struggling to listen. All their expressions mirrored her own: absolutely terrified.

“We got a pulse,” he reassured, and they all let out a collective breath of relief. Ainsley’s heart squeezed when she heard his grim tone stay, despite it. “But…I said I wasn’t going to sugarcoat it,” he warned. They all sobered. “…Malcolm is the worst trauma I’ve ever seen,” he admitted quietly. “And I’ve been doing this for a long time— I’ve seen a lot of stuff. _Nothing_ like this. Normally we don’t want patients that are in _this_ compromised a state to be under anesthesia for too long…but his internal injuries are extensive…we’ve been having to take some more extreme measures.”

She paled. “Extreme…wha— what does that mean?”

“His appendix was _severely _inflamed,” he replied. “Its tissues had become infected from the bacteria that’s gotten into your brother’s bloodstream from having so many open wounds for such a long amount of time. It was _completely _blocked with purulent fluid— or, pus. We decided it was best to just remove it. We call the appendix one of the ‘Christmas ornaments’ of the body. It’s not really there to do much of anything, except look pretty.” It sounded like he was trying to make a joke. Ainsley didn’t laugh, and he dropped the forced lighter tone. “Removing it was the best course of action— we would be wasting precious time in doing anything else, trying to save an organ that ultimately does nothing for him. You understand?”

“Yes,” she murmured. “So…his appendix…is gone…?”

“That’s correct. And…we _also_ had to remove his right kidney.” Her stomach dropped. But it only dropped more when he continued. “One of the knives that had been stabbed into his abdomen had sliced it.” She went stiff, her eyes getting ten times as wide as she staggered a little. A knife? _One _of the knives!? She and Jessica whirled around to look at Gil. His stare only grew more pained. “We had to make the decision fast, and I _know _it’s not ideal— we entertained the idea of trying to save it, but at the end of the day, it would have taken too long and we weren’t confident it could be repaired. Now, the kidneys are _definitely_ more important than the appendix so we spent longer debating, but the human body _can _live with one kidney just as fine as it can, two.”

She felt dizzy. When she spoke next, her voice was ragged and weak. “S-so…his appendix…and his kidney…” she repeated dully.

“Yes.” There was a pause, again. Only something was different, about this pause. There was something heavier in it. Ainsley forgot how to breathe again. She felt it…she felt something wrong. Sure enough, Doctor Torres’ voice was much heavier and much more sympathetic when he took in a slow breath and began. “The reason I am calling you, Ainsley…is because I have to have an answer from you.” Everyone was practically pressed against her, trying to hear what he was saying. Suddenly, she was worried she wouldn’t be able to hold the phone anymore, her hand was shaking so much.

“What’s the question?” she whispered.

“You _are _Malcolm’s power of attorney. Given that he is unable to give his own answer, the decision ultimately falls to you.” She felt like she was going to be sick. “Ainsley, Malcolm’s left arm is severely damaged,” he started quietly. “He has a compound fracture— which means his bone is broken completely through the skin, and his hand is completely shattered.” She sniffed. Tears were streaming down her face, but she couldn’t move, to wipe them away. She was frozen. “The surrounding tissue is necrotic and eating away at what healthy tissue he _does _still have.

“We’ve begun trying to debride the dead tissue in the effort to try and stop further infection…but…” Her mouth was already dropping open with horror. She was shaking her head, but he wasn’t stopping. He was going on, and what he was saying was the worst thing she’d ever heard. “I’m going to be honest with you,” he reminded. “It…it doesn’t look good. His hand is completely shattered, and there’s extensive nerve damage. The break in the bone itself would be difficult to recover from for _anybody, _but the chances of adequate recovery for Malcolm are even slimmer…when you consider the amount of physical therapy he’ll _already _require, going by the amount of muscle atrophy he has. When you pair that with the possibility of spreading and worsening infection—”

“Wait— what are you saying?” she croaked. “What…what are you talking about?”

“Ainsley…we need you to make a decision on whether you want to try and save Malcolm’s left arm,” he said point-blank. She jerked like he’d slapped her across the face. All her breath was stolen— ripped right out of her lungs. Everyone else yanked themselves away from the phone, as if by reeling away from it, it would make it less real. Somehow, the surgeon stayed just as calm. “We could try and _save _his arm…but I do have to warn you that the recovery itself wouldn’t be easy, so we run the risk of putting him through more – most likely _additional _– surgeries, which would be a substantial strain on him especially in this state. _And_…infections in the bone are especially difficult to treat with medication. With all the swelling in the bone tissue, it makes it difficult for antibiotics to enter and be able to do their job. We run the risk of letting the infection spread even more than it already has.”

She was trapped in horrified silence. She felt her mother grip her arm. Gil was pacing, pressing the heels of his hands hard into his eyes. Ainsley’s eyes flickered to Jessica’s— her mother was looking at her with wide eyes, saying _something _to her through her expression. But Ainsley couldn’t wrap her mind around whatever it might have been. Her heart was pounding too much for her to be able to hear anything over it. Her lungs were burning and refusing to work. Her blood seemed to be burning with panic and freezing with horror at the same time. At first, all she did was stand there.

When Malcolm had asked her to be his ‘emergency person’ she had said yes. She’d figured it wasn’t that big a deal. She figured that she would just be the person called to pick him up and take him home after he’d done something stupid, like the one time she’d been called after he wound up in the ED with a blood sugar of 46 after going for so long without eating. Never, did she think she would be standing here with this phone in her hand, being asked whether or not her brother would want an entire limb removed.

She was the ‘emergency person’ because Malcolm trusted her to make decisions based off him.

But she was too far out of her depth, with this. She had no idea what he would want her to do.

“You’re…asking me…if…” Her words were sticking in her throat.

“We need a decision and we need it fairly soon,” he returned.

“A— decision…for…?” She was floundering, reaching for something and coming up with nothing.

“We need a decision as to whether we try to salvage his left arm, or amputate now,” he defined.

Tears blinded her. Everyone around her was saying something, but she wasn’t listening. All she was thinking about was that photo of Malcolm and her when they were little, and how he’d always give her piggy-back rides whenever she used to beg for them. She was thinking about all the times she’d used to run at him and fling her arms around him in a hug because she was the only person he really liked hugging him, and how he would always squeeze her as tight as he could and lift her up to spin her in a circle. How they’d walk down the street and she would veer to her right and bump him in the shoulder; she always nearly sent him off-balance, but he would grin, no matter what.

She had no idea how bad the infection was, or how bad the wound looked in the first place. She knew now thanks to the detail about the knives, that Gil was keeping quite a lot from them. She was not only having to swallow the fact her brother’s arm was crushed and his hand was apparently reduced to nothing but bone fragments, but now she was also having to swallow the fact that it was now up to her to have to decide whether or not Malcolm got to keep it at all.

“H-How likely is the infection to get worse if you try and keep it?” she forced out eventually. Her mouth tasted awful, just getting it out. Her mother’s eyes got even wider if that was even possible. She was glaring at her now; Ainsley looked at her with just-as-wide eyes.

“I can’t give you an exact answer,” he replied, to her disappointment. “But I can tell you the risk would be much higher than if we were to amputate. And the additional surgeries that will be needed to fix his arm _completely _will put him at even higher risk for infection. As it is, we would be worried about putting him under anesthesia again. Going by the magnitude of the injury, it would be…a very tall order, to regain its entire function, in his condition.”

Ainsley’s lips shook. Her heart was pounding in her ears.

Her mother looked at her sharply. “What are you doing?” she demanded. She just stared at her uselessly, and her eyes narrowed a little more. “Ainsley— are you listening to what he’s telling you?”

“I…” It was only thanks to the fact she wasn’t blinking, that her tears weren’t falling. Her grip on the phone tightened. “I _can’t_…Mom, it’s…” Her voice broke. “It’s his _arm…”_

“It’s his _life,” _she rivaled immediately, her own voice shaking in its intensity. “You heard what he said— it’s infected! It’s been killing him— it could _still _kill him!” she choked. She looked at the expression on her daughter’s face and softened, her lips trembling as her expression crumbled just a little. She took a step closer, reaching up to brush some of her hair back. Her voice dropped to a rushed murmur. “Ainsley— honey— we can’t lose him…” she breathed. Ainsley’s own breathing hitched. “I— I know…I _know _it’s his arm, but— but we can’t risk losing him. We already _thought _we lost him once. We can’t _do _that again.”

“What you _can’t _do, is count him out,” Gil suddenly growled. The other three looked at him. He was crying, but he was struggling to keep his voice steady and sure, despite the fact. He was looking at them with the same strained conviction he’d been looking at them with for the past year. He looked hard at Jessica, his jaw set back. Jessica was beginning to glare right back at him. Her hands clenched, at her sides. “You already tried to count him out once— you wanted a funeral when he was still fighting,” he reminded. Jessica flared. “This is the _exact _same thing, Jessica.” He turned to Ainsley, his expression turning more desperate. “Tell them to keep the arm,” he begged quietly. “Tell them to do whatever they can.”

Her stomach tightened.

Jessica took a threatening step towards him. “You want to risk more infection— more _surgeries!?”_

“I want to do what’s best for Malcolm,” he fired back.

She just scowled more. “And you think that’s putting his body through even more stress!? You think what’s ‘best for Malcolm’ is hanging onto a ‘maybe’ instead of a surefire answer!? He could _die!”_

“This is what Malcolm would _want.” _Again, Gil was looking over at Ainsley, instead of her.

But again, she was rounding on him. “You think he would want the risk? You think he would want to come all this way— fight this hard, only to _die_ anyway, because we made this decision!? If he doesn’t die from infection, he’ll die on the table of a third or fourth surgery! Shouldn’t _you _of all people know that’s not something his body can keep going through!?” Gil pressed his hands into his eyes again. “You do not get to gamble with my son’s life— _just because you feel guilty for having let this go on for as long as you have, does _not _mean you take risks like this!”_

_“This has nothing to do with that!” _Gil yelled immediately.

“You don’t want his arm amputated because you don’t want to live with a _reminder like that!” _she snapped. “You don’t want a lasting repercussion— you want to pretend this never happened, and I want that too but guess what!? We _can’t! Neither of us can, and it’s because of you.”_

“I don’t want his arm amputated because I know _Malcolm would be miserable!” _Gil shouted.

“But he would be _alive!” _she choked. She whirled back around to her daughter, looking at her with all the intensity there was in the world. “Ainsley. Tell him. Tell him to amputate— it’s the safest option, we _know _he will be safe, if they— if they cut it off.” Ainsley wilted. Tears were streaming down both their faces. “Malcolm won’t understand at first, but we can explain it to him— he’ll come around, he’ll know that we were just acting in his best interest.”

“I…_Mom, _it’s…I—…I _can’t, _Mom…” she cried.

“Of course you can!” she snapped, harder now. “Just tell him to amputate!”

Gil was shaking his head fast. “No. Ainsley— _no. _You _know _your brother; that’s why he picked you!”

She cringed. She took in a fast breath and asked the doctor: “What would _you _do?” What should she do? She needed someone to tell her what to do. She wanted this to be in someone else’s hands. She was holding her brother’s life in hers, and the weight was too much. She was going to make a mistake. She was going to fail him. She was going to let him down.

Torres’ voice was apologetic. “I’m afraid I can’t give you that advice. This is a decision you need to make for yourself. And we need it quickly.”

“Tell him to amputate— it’s the only way we’re sure to have Malcolm back,” Jessica insisted.

_“No. _He _can’t. _Ainsley— Malcolm won’t want to live with that reminder. You _know _he won’t.”

_“You’ve done enough,” _she hissed through her teeth. “Why are you even _here? _If you’re not going to tell me how my son is and if all you’re going to do is _keep _hurting him, why are you here!?”

“I’m—!”

_“Quiet!” _Dani suddenly yelled. It got everyone shutting up. They all looked at her. She was glaring at Jessica and Gil. Her voice grew much quieter, but its seriousness was not to be questioned. _“Quiet,” _she repeated, softer. “This is _Ainsley’s _decision. You two can’t say _anything.” _Gil’s face fell. Jessica looked affronted, and like she was going to argue, but Dani was turning to look at Ainsley. Her expression softened, both with apology and with sympathy. “It’s up to you. Nobody else. You make your choice, and we’ll support you. Because Malcolm _said_ it’s up to you.”

Her heart dropped down to her feet. She said nothing, but behind her tears, there was a flash of gratitude. She ducked her head, because she couldn’t stomach to see either of the other two’s expressions. Her heart kept pounding and she kept shaking. She tried to keep only Malcolm on her mind. She tried to only think of her brother, and what he’d want her to do. She closed her eyes, praying that he had decided to put the right person in charge of his wishes. She begged whatever higher power there was to let this be the right choice. And she forced out the answer without letting herself agonize over it any longer.

“I want you to try and keep it,” she croaked. Jessica’s expression froze over with horror. Gil hung his head and sighed, looking fit to pass out. Ainsley saw neither. She just kept studying her feet, no triumph or confidence in her at all. In fact, she only cried harder, once the answer was given. More and more tears fell down her cheeks and her throat burned hotter. Her voice was so thick, she could hardly make it work. But she forced herself to. “Please do everything you can…” She felt empty and hopeless and terrified as she sobbed: “Please do everything you can to save my brother…and his arm.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The waiting room was dead silent. Nobody spoke. Nobody even _looked_ at each other. The tension was so thick, you needed a chainsaw to cut through it. Ainsley’s throat was hot, and every time it seemed like she was getting herself back under control, her mother would shoot her a look and the tears would spring back into her eyes all over again. They were frustrated tears, they were angry tears, they were terrified tears. The only noise was her and her mother’s occasional sniff. That, and the earsplitting sound of the clock’s second hand.

It was ages before her mother broke the silence. Her voice was thin and choked with anger. “You _should_ have told him to amputate,” she hissed.

Ainsley immediately shut her eyes. “Mom, stop,” she whispered.

She shot her a glare. “You _should have. _That was the _right thing to do.”_

“Jessica,” Gil warned, immediately flaring to Ainsley’s defense.

She whirled around to look at him instead, her fury only getting worse. _“Don’t,” _she spat. The acid in her tone got him withdrawing just a little. “_Don’t_ you say _anything_.” Her glare fractured for just a moment. Sorrow and desperation made her wilt for just the briefest of moments, yet she still struggled to glare at him. _“Knives. Gil.” _He looked away. He didn’t have the bravery anymore to face up to her. She sounded like she was either three seconds away from sobbing, or three seconds away from screaming at the top of her lungs. “How…_many knives…_were in my _son?”_

He closed his eyes tightly.

Now, Ainsley was looking at him as well. There was much less anger on her face; all there was, was exhausted and strained despair. Gil couldn’t face _that, _either. Jessica had to choke back a swallow so she could speak clearly. “This entire time, you haven’t said a single thing about how he was when you found him. You didn’t want to _answer.” _Gil was silent. _“Look at me!” _she yelled. He did, but it was clear it was the last thing he wanted to do. “Tell me what happened,” she pressed. “Tell me what happened to my son.”

“I don’t know,” Gil forced out.

“Tell me how you found him,” she insisted.

He shook his head a fraction of an inch. “Jessica…” He looked at her mournfully. Her glower faltered. “I can’t…I…” He closed his eyes briefly, feeling sick as he remembered the image of Malcolm on the floor. It was burned in his memory…every time he blinked, it seemed to flash back in front of him. He was feeling sicker by the second, just having to think about it. He let out a shivering breath and rubbed his forehead. “I can’t tell you…it would…Jessica, it would just make everything worse.”

_“How many knives were in my son when you found him?” _she asked slowly and forcefully.

Gil just cringed. When he couldn’t answer, Dani forced herself to. “It was just the two…”

She looked at her, her stare freezing and accusatory. At first she was shocked and horrified, but it was quick to change to rage again. _“Just _the two!?” Dani takes in a deep breath, looking back at her hands. She didn’t want to start crying again. She hardly _ever _cried. Before this, she hadn’t cried for years. She hated the fact that it came so easily to her, now. Jessica looked back at Gil. He was averting his eyes in the same exact way, though. Her eyes were shining more and more, with tears. _“Just _the two— oh, what a _relief! _And what about his _arm? _When were you planning on telling me his arm was broken _right through his—” _She choked off. Again, she had to take a couple moments to get her air back. “What _else?”_ she hissed, once she managed. “What else are you keeping from me?”

Neither answered.

Clenched between her hands, Dani jumped when she felt her phone buzz. She looked down at the caller ID and stiffened. She stood from her chair abruptly and left the room. Jessica spared her no attention. “_How_ could you have seen Malcolm the way he was and _still _encourage Ainsley to make that choice?”

Ainsley glared at her. “He didn’t _encourage me,” _she protested. “I made the choice myself.”

She rounded on her without missing a beat. “And you chose _wrong,” _she growled. “_How_ could you gamble your brother’s life like that!? It’s been an hour already and we’ve heard nothing.”

“I did what Malcolm would have wanted me to do,” she murmured.

“You may have very well _killed him, Ains—” _

_“Stop _it,” Gil snapped. She looked at him like she was ready to fight, but he extinguished her desire with his fierce scowl. _“Stop it, Jessica, _why would you say that? _Why_ would you say that to your daughter?” The woman’s face fell. She turned to her again, freezing when she saw the look on Ainsley's face. She was trying to keep herself together, but her lips were betraying her, with their subtle tremors. She reached up fast, to wipe at her eyes. Jessica deflated, her mouth hanging halfway open. Nothing came out.

Ainsley didn’t even look at her. Gil went back to staring at his hands.

The silence was back. This time, it was even more suffocating, somehow.

Gil was most distracted out of all of them, remembering how Malcolm had looked and sounded. Wondering how long he had spent on that ground with the knives plunged into his abdomen and with his tie tied fast around his neck. He remembered what he’d yelled at Jessica— about how she shouldn’t give up on Malcolm because he was still fighting. She’d told him he didn’t really believe that. In part, she was right. If he was being honest, most of himself hadn’t thought Malcolm could last twelve months, when nobody before had lasted more than three. This was a testament as to _why. _

Thinking about it now, he was horrified at the thought of what all Malcolm must have had to get through. He _had _been fighting— for ages, he’d fought to be able to get back to them. He couldn’t come all this way and die now. But he _also _couldn’t come all this way and lose his arm. He was guilty to know that Jessica had been absolutely right. He _didn’t _want a permanent reminder like that. If Malcolm lost his arm, he would never be able to move past this— not _really. _He didn’t want the reminder, yes, but it wasn’t for his sake, or his pride. It was for Malcolm’s.

He’d come this far. He couldn’t lose even _more. _

He wiped his eyes, sighing again. He thought to himself that he could get up and walk the room again. It wasn’t that large, but it was better than just sitting and feeling that awful restlessness thrumming through him. He got up to stand and do just that, when he noticed Dani walk back in his line of vision. She didn’t walk into the room— she was lingering in its entryway. The look on her face got him stopping. She was ashen and pale. He blinked, his eyebrows pulling together in a silent question of concern. She just glanced at the other two in the room – who weren’t paying attention – and beckoned him quickly, before she turned and went back down the hall.

It felt like there was a heavy rock in his stomach. Jessica was staring ahead blankly, and Ainsley was staring at her jacket sleeves, which hung a little bit past her hands. Her legs were drawn to her chest and her eyes were puffy and red. Neither of them was paying attention and they weren’t paying attention when Gil walked past them and headed after Dani. He had that deep-seated feeling that there was something wrong, just like he’d had when they were driving to the factory to look for Malcolm.

She was waiting at the end of the hall, near the bathrooms. Her expression was just as heavy as it had been before— in fact, Gil’s heart lodged in his throat when he got closer and realized it was even _worse_.

“What is it?” he asked, dreading the worst but not exactly know that ‘the worst’ would be.

She was holding her phone tightly in her hands, still. She glanced down at it, and he followed her gaze. Her voice was low and subdued. “JT…he just…called me.” Gil’s stomach dropped. Oddly enough, he hadn’t been expecting that to be the reason she’d pulled him aside. He hadn’t spared a single thought for that half of things. Ever since he’d crouched over Malcolm and saw the ruined remains of this entire situation, his thoughts had only been for him. He hadn’t thought twice about Winston Price. Now, it was punching him in the gut again.

“They’d said before, that they searched his house from top to bottom,” she reminded. Gil’s teeth were gnashing together, and his hands were clenching into fists so tight, his nails were biting into the skin. He thought back to the man that had sat in that chair so coolly, saying absolutely nothing, and he could taste the bitter acid of rage bathe his tongue. He’d _sat there _and said nothing, wasn’t affected at all, _knowing_ the state that he had left Malcolm in for who knew how long. He’d ruined him so much, to such a degree, and he didn’t even blink. He’d only cracked in order to _prove _that he _had _hurt Malcolm so severely.

He hadn’t thought about him once since he’d seen him early this morning, but now he was taking up every inch of his mind. Now, he wanted to run out there, run all the way back to him and grab him by the collar. He wanted to throw him against the wall and punch him over and over and over again, until he was a _fraction _of the hurt that he had made Malcolm. Once he threw the first punch, all he would see was red. He would keep punching him, relentless and crazy, and he would have absolutely no qualms about doing it. He was so preoccupied, he almost didn’t realize when Dani kept going. He snapped back to attention late.

“…found something,” she was saying, turning on her phone again. “I…thought you should see.”

“What is it?” he demanded, instantly forgetting everything else.

Dani looked over her shoulder, and then down the hall the other direction. Her eyes flashed, and after some hesitation, turned and went into the bathroom. She waited, looking back at him as she held the door open for him, and he followed her inside. It was a single-room bathroom. She locked it behind them and lingered for a moment, staring at the door handle as if she was checking to make sure it was actually bolted. Gil’s dread was just getting worse in the pit of his stomach. “Dani, what’s happening?” he breathed.

She faced him again, turning her phone on. “They found them in the crawlspace under his house,” she began. Her eyes were raw. _“Hundreds…_of DVDs…all loaded with footage.” Gil’s blood turned to ice. “They found a tripod at the— at the scene where Malcolm was found. It was hidden away in the opposite corner…” He was paling. He knew where this was going, but he was begging it mentally to not be the case. Nevertheless, it was. “Each DVD case was labeled with a victim’s name, and…the days it had been filmed over. Malcolm…was there, too.” She hesitated before she murmured: “He was…most of them…”

He’d lasted the longest. He’d lasted a year. There were twelve months…all recorded? His mouth went dry. He had to reach out and steady himself against the wall. Dani was staring at him almost apologetically, as she said what he had just started to fear. “JT just sent me the first few videos…” It was so quiet, if you dropped a pin between the two of them, the sound that would result would be equivalent to an explosion. “I was…going to look at them, myself, but…I didn’t…I felt wrong, not…letting you know…”

She was looking at him anxiously. With her anxious stare, he heard what she didn’t say. She didn’t want to leave him out of this, yes; but at the same time, she didn’t want to watch this alone. Even though it would change nothing – even though there was no avoiding or altering what would be on the video and what had happened to Malcolm – the thought of having someone at your shoulder while you watched it made it the tiniest bit less terrifying. In a way.

“He…?”

“He sent me a few,” she repeated. JT was handling everything for her so far; she’d hoped – foolishly – that by now Malcolm would be out of surgery and she would have been able to leave to help wrap up the case. JT had reassured her he would have everything covered for her. She imagined once she did get back there, whenever that would be, he would fill her on the rest of it. He’d just sent her this minimal few, in what she was sure would be a sea of horrible videos. She pulled up the attachment, her eyes flashing as they narrowed a little. Her voice was harder when she growled: “I guess…Winston wanted to have some kind of…_proof_…of all the things he put his victims through.”

Gil’s eyes were dull. He walked over to stand beside her.

She opened the first one. The screen was dark. On impulse, Gil reached out and shut the lights off, so they’d be able to see easier. Dani followed his lead, and turned her brightness all the way up. She hadn’t pressed play yet; there wasn’t much to see. They took a couple seconds to brace themselves. Knowing, at the same time, that doing so was probably impossible. As if she was preparing herself to dive underneath the water, Dani took in a breath. Gil did too, without even thinking. His chest tightened when she finally brought herself to press play.

The video started with the camera aimed towards the ground. It was dark, but by his footsteps they could tell he was going down stairs. When he reached the bottom, Gil recognized the stone flooring of the cabin. The timestamp in the corner had him immediately doing the math. May 19th. Malcolm would have been missing for three days. He felt the searing pain of frustration take his breath away, at the realization that he had been there for _that _long. The _entire time, _and Malcolm had been there. No moving, no relocation. He’d been _right there,_ and nobody had noticed. _Gil _hadn’t noticed.

It was 8:11 pm. It explained the darkness. Winston crossed the room and the camera jostled a little, until there was a small clicking noise, and the picture steadied. He’d placed it in its tripod. There was another pause with just footsteps. There was another, smaller click, and suddenly the room was lit up. Or at least…it was lit up in comparison to what it had been like before. Winston was holding a large electronic lantern. There hadn’t been electricity in the cabin— he remembered that now. This was the only means of light, but it was enough. It showed the room he remembered. And yet it _wasn’t_ what he remembered, at the same time.

The floor was gray. When Gil had been standing there, it had been bathed with so much blood it may as well have been painted. And in the center of the room, was Malcolm. Both their breaths caught when they saw him. He was laying on the ground, his back to the camera. He was still, even while Winston stepped around him. Gil gritted his teeth so hard it hurt, when he saw how coldly the man was staring down at him. He was looking at him like he didn’t matter. And when he kicked out to plant the toe of his shoe against Malcolm’s shoulder and push him onto his back, there was still no emotion on his face. Malcolm rolled onto his back and lay there, head lolling with the shove.

Gil was radiating fury, not even able to breathe around it. Winston kicked out again, and caught his right shoulder. Malcolm was shifted from it. His head fell towards the camera, and Gil covers his mouth, to stifle the sob that would have certainly come out had he not. There was a dark bruise over one of his eyes, and a bruise was darkening his cheek. There was a nasty scrape on his forehead but it was superficial.

Tears stung his eyes. Not because of the injuries that were there, but for the injuries that _weren’t._

He was a little beat up and bruised…but it was _him. _He hadn’t lost all that weight, he wasn’t bloody and gory from head to toe. His cheekbones weren’t jutting out of his face— his left arm was perfectly fine. His clothes were a little dirty but they were still intact, and they weren’t just a collection of awful stains. He still had his jacket, his shirt was still white. The person he’d seen on the floor of the abandoned factory hadn’t been Malcolm— he hadn’t recognized him. _This _was Malcolm.

But he knew what was in store for him.

Malcolm groaned weakly. His left arm had dropped supine after being kicked, but now it was bending just a little. His eyes were struggling to pry themselves open. Gil saw his right leg start to bend, too. It was accompanied by the subtle scrape of metal— he was shackled to the ground. He couldn’t breathe as he watched Malcolm’s head slowly start to move back and forth, as if by moving he would help wake himself up more. It was taking him effort. It was _hard. _

He’d been sedated.

Winston caught him in the shoulder again; Malcolm only roused a little bit more. But his eyes were open now— Gil could see their flash of blue. They were murky and confused but he was awake. “You can really take a punch from this stuff,” Winston remarks, just watching Malcolm struggle. Malcolm was fighting to roll onto his stomach but his movements were uncoordinated and weak. He was arching his back, trying to twist his body with his arm, but nothing was working. “It took _one-hundred and fifty-two milligrams _that time to knock you out.” Gil’s heart shattered when he heard Malcolm give out a tiny noise of exertion and subtle panic, the more he tried to flip himself. “That’s way over the normal dose you’re supposed to get in an entire _day_, did you know that?”

Malcolm cringed blearily, fighting tooth and nail to drag himself out of the haze he’d been put under. His voice was weak and rasping— his words were slow like he was having difficulty getting his tongue to listen to him. “Pl…p—s’op…don’…” He gave up trying to get onto his stomach. He was arching his back hard, trying to manage it, but all the strength left him when he just sighed and dropped to the ground again. His head moved like his neck was broken, shaking every which way before he must have finally pinpointed where Winston was and got it stop. Gil didn’t have to see his expression to know what it was. To know how terrified he probably was, and how pleading he must have looked. “Don’…give’m’…’ny more…”

Gil knew if he was in control right now he would be screaming. He would be thrashing and yelling and swinging. Malcolm always refused to go to the hospital, even when the situation warranted it, purely to avoid the sedatives they tended to give you. He didn’t even like to take _pain medication _because usually it made you sleepy. Even when he was only a little bit there, Gil could hear the absolute terror and fear that was in his voice as he slurred out the pathetic beg. It communicated everything he couldn’t, and yet he already knew it would fall on deaf ears.

It in no way lessened the pain, when Winston just stared at him and asked a simple: “Why not?”

A whine died in his throat. He was trying to plant his hands on the ground and push himself up. But he weighed too much for his muscles to work with. He cringed and a frustrated, scared noise wrenched its way out of him. Winston moved ever so slightly but Malcolm must have immediately caught it. His legs jerked, his heels catching on the ground like he was trying to scuttle away. He tried to drag his right arm up to shield himself but it just flopped uselessly onto his chest. “N— no, s’op…” Winston ignored him. He crouched, ignoring the way he kept scrabbling at the ground. “I can’…don’ gi’me…an’ther…”

Winston tilted his head to the side. An awful smile was spreading over his face. His eyes were widening and brightening with it, unnaturally. “But you still look so _tired, _Malcolm.”

He shook his head, having to basically drag it back and forth. “N—…no…”

Winston leaned in. His beam was getting bigger. In just as bright a voice, he instructed: “Beg me.”

Malcolm’s body went slack, again. His feet stopped trying to push against the ground. His head turned ever so slightly, and Gil’s heart froze in his chest when he saw his eyes finally find the camera. He could tell it was the first time he was actually noticing it. For a couple of seconds he stared at it desperately, unknowingly holding Gil’s terrified gaze. When Winston leaned in a little closer, Malcolm let out a choking sigh and dragged his head back front. His movements were starting to make more sense, as the drug faded.

At first, Malcolm said nothing. But then Winston was reaching back into his jacket for something, and Gil cringed when it immediately had him flipping a switch. “Please…” He actually got the entire word out. It was nothing but a terrified exhale, when he saw Winston pull out the vial and syringe. Apparently he recognized it. Gil felt sick as he wondered how many times this had already happened. “Please— don’t…_please_ don’t…’m…begging. I’m begging. Don’t give me more.”

Winston pressed in the same type of voice: “Try and fight me.”

He let out a distressed noise as he saw Winston draw up another dose. He was purposefully moving slower than he needed to, so he could watch Malcolm try and get him off to no avail. He was still too drugged up to put up enough of a fight. He yanked Malcolm closer by his right arm. Malcolm fell back and Gil saw him glare a little— he saw actual anger give him an additional sense of focus.

He lashed out. He threw his free hand blindly at his face, just trying to do any kind of damage. He kicked and twisted and pulled and Winston watched all of it with that same smile, enjoying every moment. Eventually, he grew bored. He pulled Malcolm back and planted one knee hard into his chest, and the other just as hard into his throat. The two watched with twin looks of horror as Malcolm started panicking from a lack of air. He stopped trying to fight and started pushing at his knee instead, frantically trying to get the pressure off. He took that moment to inject him.

Malcolm cried out when he felt the needle, even though he didn’t have the air to spare. He tried to reach up and yank the syringe out, but he’d already pressed the plunger all the way down in one smooth motion. The instant he did, Winston was shoving himself off of him— Malcolm started gasping and choking the second he was able to. He rolled onto his side, curling up on instinct. Winston watched like it was the best show on television; his smile only grew when Malcolm tried to get up. His arms shook with the effort it took just to get himself near a crouching position. But he couldn’t even get that far, to begin with.

He made it a centimeter or two off the ground, before he fell. He tried again, but this time he barely got a millimeter before he was dropping. He tried a couple more times, but all he could manage were feeble twitches. As the drug seeped through his system he was forced to relax again. He groaned and choked as he kept trying to struggle. But soon after his attempts to push himself up were gone, so were the noises of muted panic. Malcolm went limp again. He didn’t make a sound and he didn’t move. The video ended with Winston standing over his sedated form, that huge, triumphant and glassy smile frozen on his face.

Even when it stopped, Dani and Gil continued to stare, as if they were waiting for more. When they finally tore their eyes away to look at one another, they found the same hollowed horror looking back at them. It looked like they wanted to say something – Gil even opened his mouth like he was about to – but neither spoke. The weight on their chests was too heavy to breathe around. They didn’t have the air for words. Dani looked back at the phone, and exited that video. Gil’s stomach twisted when he saw how many more there were. There were four already. Dani had said JT had only sent her the first _few. _

Dani hesitated again, but when Gil only stepped a little closer so their shoulders were brushing, she clicked the next one. It wasn’t being played yet, but it was frozen in its beginning. The timestamp was May 26th. It was the tenth day into his kidnapping. Unbeknownst to him…it was day ten out of three hundred and seventy-four. He looked tired and strained. His shirt was untucked and a little grimy— his hair was a mess. But he was awake. He was sitting directly in front of the camera, in the chair Gil remembered as being just as much covered in blood as the floor was. Just like the floor, it was clean. There was no blood on it…_yet_.

Dani pressed play.

Malcolm’s eyes were the tiniest bit narrowed, his jaw was set back. There was reproach in the back of his gaze but he was holding his tongue on the emotions Gil knew were everywhere in his mind. He was staring at something just behind the camera— most likely where Winston was. Rope was thick around his wrists, wound tightly around nearly his entire forearm and tied into a crushing knot. He wasn’t even attempting to get out of them, though Gil noticed his hands shake, just before he curled them into tight fists. His heart pained, at the attempt he knew all too well. He always did that, to get his tremors to stop. Usually it did the trick. But now, it was doing next to nothing. He could still see his hands tremble violently.

“Alright, look at the camera,” came Winston’s voice.

Malcolm did nothing. He was a blank slate. He stared pointedly off to the side, with the direction.

“I said— _look at the camera.”_

He didn’t comply.

There a period of silence, where nothing happened. Dani’s heartbeat was pounding in her ears— it was all she could hear, in this break. It was so quiet and her friend was so still that she started to wonder if the video had frozen. But then, all of a sudden, the quiet was sliced in two. From out of nowhere, something swung out at Malcolm. He barely had time to see and brace himself, before a bat was swung hard into his chest. The aluminum made a horrible noise that was almost overshadowed by Malcolm’s cry. He flinched, all his breath whooshing out of him. Pain broke across his face, and panic was right on its heels as he struggled to remember how to breathe in the wake of the blow.

Winston pulled away, watching in silence as he heaved and choked. Malcolm swayed, waiting for his lungs to start functioning again; when they did, his breaths were shaky wheezes. Winston’s voice was suddenly a furious snarl when he repeated an even harsher: _“I said look at the camera!” _Malcolm flinched but forced himself to lift his head, this time. Gil’s eyes stung when he saw that there was nothing but pain on his face. Underneath that pain was a weak kind of desperation. It was awful to see.

_“Thank you,” _Winston sighed. _“Now. _Tell the camera your name.”

Malcolm’s eyes flickered from him, to the recording device. He was still gasping unevenly and weakly. Every breath was painful to listen to. “Is this what you did to the others?” he eventually puffed. Winston said nothing. Malcolm forced down another breath so he could press: “Did you film them all, too? …Film their murders?”

“They weren’t murders,” came the flat, immediate response.

Gil could see him start to think, despite everything else. His voice got gentler. “No…not to you,” he breathed. Winston’s expression must have changed because he was rushing on. “You think of it as outlasting someone else…but they die by _your _hands. You see this as trying to communicate; as trying to let people know what you’ve been through— how strong you are.”

Winston was listening. Hope was growing over Malcolm’s face, and it pained Gil to see, when he knew that whatever he thought he was onto, it wasn’t actually there. Or whatever it was, it wouldn’t be enough. “But you _have _to understand…that’s _not _reality…other people don’t _see it _the way _you _do.” He shook his head. “Four people have died…they know _why, _and they’re trying to find you. Now that _I’m _here, they’ll be looking even harder!” Gil ducked his head, punched in the gut as he realized the trust that Malcolm had placed in him. As he was reminded yet again how much he had failed him.

“You have a chance to stop it now, before it gets even worse,” Malcolm urged. “I can _help _you, even— you see yourself as alone, that’s why you want to isolate yourself even _further _by doing all of this— by hurting others to make yourself seem better in comparison.” He was forcing himself to soften. “But you don’t _want_ to be alone. Not _really. _Not if you want others to see you as stronger…you want _approval. _But there are _other ways _to get people to _understand _you. If you stop all of this, if you go to the police and—”

The bat swung out again, and again, it hit square in his chest. Malcolm was thrown back with the force. He hit the back of the chair, the strangled choking noises coming back as he was once again left to flounder for air. _“Your name!” _Winston’s voice was still enraged. He leaned over Malcolm as he struggled, scowling as he ignored his victim’s spluttering so he could hiss into his ear. _“Say it._”

The second he got his breath back, he was giving in. “Mal…colm…Brigh…t.”

Winston shook his head hard. He leaned away, and swung at him again, this time in the shoulder. A broken cry of pain wrenched itself out of Malcolm. The pain was overwhelming; he stayed leaned over the side of the chair, choking in deep after deep breath. Winston grabbed him by the hair and wrenched his head up. “I said your _name,” _he spat.

“That _is_ m—” He broke off into a sob when Winston swung down to hit his shoulder from above.

He was thrown forward. Winston yanked him back by the hair even harder this time. “Your _name. _Your _real _name. _Say it, _or the next time I swing, it’ll be at your head.”

It took a couple moments. Before, hunched over still gasping for air, Malcolm forced out: “Malcolm…Whitly…”

Dani and Gil both practically recoiled at the name.

“Into the camera,” came the next, flat instruction.

Malcolm raised his head. He stared into the camera with despair and repeated: “Malcolm Whitly.”

Winston’s voice gave away his smile when he pressed, “And what are you doing here?”

He closed his eyes. “I don’t know…”

“Of course you do. I _know _you do. So say it. Into the camera.”

Gil could see the fear he was trying to keep at bay. “You’re going to torture me and kill me,” he eventually brought himself to whisper. “Like you did all the others.”

“I didn’t kill the others,” Winston corrected, just as softly. “They died themselves.”

Malcolm said nothing. The fear was growing on his face.

“I’m not going to kill you, Malcolm Whitly. That’s not the point of this.”

Malcolm kept empty eye contact with the camera. Gil saw the smallest glint of water in his eyes. His lips barely moved when he spoke next. “Right…” The expression on his face was growing deader. But it was clear it was only because he was so scared of what he knew was going to come. “I know…” he whispered, once more unknowingly holding Gil’s gaze. Tears streamed down Gil’s face. His heart ached so badly he might as well have been bleeding out. He could tell Malcolm was scared. He was in pain and alone and terrified, barely keeping himself together. And though he whispered this, and though he fell silent afterwards, Gil knew what was ringing in his head.

It was the same thing that was ringing through his _own_, right this moment. _Their _words.

_They never had a chance…_

_No. From the very beginning, their fates were sealed. _

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was almost five, when the surgeons came into the waiting room. Ainsley had wondered what Torres had meant when he’d said ‘team.’ Apparently, the team her bother required was four. The _other _group of four immediately shot to their feet when they saw them. It was two men, and two women…each of them looked absolutely exhausted, but they smiled at them when they approached. Dani found herself praying that that meant he was okay. That they were coming over here to tell them nothing but happy news. He’d pulled through, he was going to be just fine, he was okay.

_Please, please, God…_

“Are you Malcolm’s family?” The man at the head asked, once they got close enough.

Gil opened his mouth to try and explain. Jessica was speaking before he could. “Yes,” she said immediately. He closed his mouth, looking at her with surprise and remorse, but she was just staring at the doctor anxiously, her hands clasped in front of her. “How is he?” she breathed, already afraid of the answer. “Did he…did he pull through, is he going to be okay now?” Before he could begin, she was rushing to ask: “H-How hurt is he? I…I don’t even know how injured he was…” Gil looked at the ground, guilt wrenching the breath right out of his lungs.

The man offered her a sympathetic smile. He hesitated, waiting to make sure she was finished, before he cleared his throat. “Malcolm _did _pull through,” he started. Ainsley recognized his voice as the one she’d spoken to on the phone. She _also _recognized that he was choosing his words very carefully, but she was forcing that thought out of her mind. Same as everyone else, she smiled, relieved and ecstatic laughter bubbling out of her throat as she grabbed her mom’s arm. Jessica held right back to her. The animosity they’d have over her decision from before was completely gone, with the reassurance.

Torres allowed the group a chance to smile— to beam and let out breaths of relief they’d been holding this entire time, before he continued. His voice was layered with reluctant regret. “Malcolm pulled through, _but…_” they were already beginning to weaken, “he is by _no means_ out of the woods yet. He is…as stable as he’s been since he’s gotten here. There were a few moments during surgery where he was very much touch and go. We did the best we could with the severity of his injuries. But we stopped his internal bleeding…I spoke to you about his kidney and his appendix,” he said, looking at Ainsley.

The question burst out of her mouth. “And— his arm?” Her mother tightened her hold on her wrist.

Doctor Torres nodded slowly. “We stripped away all of the necrotic and damaged tissue. Doctor Hallway is the head of our ortho department,” she smiled when she was indicated, “and she cleared away all the damaged bone. It’s known as wound excision— it’s just the first step in making sure that hopefully nothing remains that can lead to further infection. _That _is our main worry at the moment. But we stabilized the bone…his capillary refill was at three seconds; once he gets to the floor we’ll be starting him on blood transfusions to get his blood volume back up.”

“But…he’s going to be okay…right?” Jessica forced herself to press.

He looked at her, his eyes flashing. But he smiled. “We are going to be carefully monitoring your son’s condition— he’s already got a room in the ICU.” She wilted. “There, he can be constantly monitored, and we can make sure that if the slightest thing goes wrong or changes, we’ll know about it right away. We’re watching his heart, and his lungs. He had multiple broken ribs that were impairing his ability to breathe properly; we have him on a ventilator and he’ll likely be on that for some time.”

He looked at them all like he was sizing them up. He cleared his throat. “It will probably be…quite a shock, when you first see him,” he warned. “I want to assure you that this is _not _a permanent state of his, by any means. This is what we like to call rock bottom, for patients. We haven’t gotten to the other surgeries or steps— the ones that make it look much better. This is just the start. He’ll have a lot of drains, and a lot of tubes. You just need to understand that this is a process. And there are steps to take beyond this one. It is by no means the ‘finalized version.’”

“But…he’ll be okay?” She was a broken record.

Again, that flash. They all saw it. They all knew what it meant. His voice was sympathetic but calculated when he returned: “We will do all we can for your son, ma’am. This whole team is staying on call, so that if anything happens, we’ll already know his baselines, and where to go from this point, or what we might need to do. All the stops are being pulled— _that_ is what I can promise you.” The reassurance was hollow. She knew it meant nothing. But still, she forced a smile, and a tiny nod.

“Are there any other questions I can answer?” he invited.

Quiet, again. They all looked at one another, seeming just as lost and confused.

Dani was the one to break the silence this time, looking back at the doctor anxiously as she asked the question they all had written on their faces. “How long until we can see him?”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The phone only rang three times before it was answered.

When she heard his voice, it was like something was squeezing even tighter around her heart. Which she hadn’t thought was even possible. “Jessica?” Martin’s voice was tense, and a little surprised. But even further underneath those two layers, she could hear the tiniest of bit of something that was too close to satisfaction. He was _happy _to have her call— just like he was always put over the moon on the rare occasions she called him, purely because she said she never would again. Once upon a time, she might have found happiness in the fact. She would have seen it as him just missing her and being happy to hear her voice. Now, she was wiser. Now, it just turned her stomach to hear.

Some part of her was screaming at herself to hang up. She’d told him before, he had to no right to Malcolm. After everything, who was _he_ to show concern over her son, who he had only hurt in the past? And yet almost immediately after the doctor finished speaking to them, she had hidden herself away in the nearest bathroom. She had taken out her phone and called this number, which she rarely ever did. She hadn’t even known whether or not it would work, but she should have figured it would. Her smarter voice was telling her to snap out of it, and hang up. That this was wrong. But she didn’t.

“He was found,” she forced out eventually.

His voice was immediately flipping. “He—?” She heard him give a couple of relieved laughs. She could hear the smile in his voice. She could see it now, and she wasn’t sure whether she infuriated by that, or deeply saddened._ “You found him!? You found Malcolm!?”_

_“Gil _found him,” she corrected thinly.

He faltered. There was a pause. “Oh.” His voice was a little stiffer, and she gritted her teeth against the fact. He recovered quickly, but the indignation in that moment was still there. “Well— what happened? Is he alright?” He was smiling again. Her skin was crawling.

Her voice was monotone, and curt. “He just got out of surgery. He was brought in at three in the morning.” It sounded like he was trying to interject, but she wasn’t going to allow him. “Gil won’t tell me, but…it sounds like he’d been…_horribly _starved. His…his _bone _was broken through his skin, he had— …he was found with _two…knives _in _stabbed into him.” _Her voice was just a choke. “He lost his appendix…and a kidney. The doctor is so worried about infection that he wanted to _amputate his arm. _The only reason he didn’t is because Ainsley said no— it’s _still _a risk. He’s on a ventilator. The doctor said…” She had to stop and clear her throat a little. She crossed her arms and ducked her head a little more when she managed: “The doctor said they were doing everything possible, but…he didn’t sound optimistic.” Her guard dropped, with this. She weakened, and her fear started to seep into her tone.

He was quiet for a while, digesting this. “Have…have you seen him, yet?”

“They’re getting him into the ICU right now,” she sighed. “I will soon.”

“Who was the surgeon?” She closed her eyes. “Who was the surgeon— what were the procedures? How long was he under anesthesia?” She picked her head back up, shaking it a little, even though she knew he couldn’t see. “Do you— here, do you have a piece of paper? Or— write it in your phone, there are questions you _need _to ask— ask them about his ejection fraction, have they even _looked_ at that yet? What medications are they putting him on? Beta-blockers? Have they done an ECG? Have they done any _tests?”_

“Martin,” she growled.

He didn’t listen. “They need to— do a BMP, a CMP, they need to get his BUN levels, they need to do a urinalysis— they can’t even understand what’s _happening to him _if they don’t run _tests! _Here— just give me the name of the surgeon, I probably know them. Give them this number, tell them to call me, I’ll make _sure_ they understand that—”

_“Martin, stop it!” _He broke off but probably not for long. So she was rushing to continue. “This is not something— for you to _control!” _she yelled. “This is not something for you to take over, this is not something to make about _you_ this is not another way for you to show that you know better or— or that everyone needs you!” He was silent. There was no telling what his face looked like now, but she preferred it that way. Her anger was fading, to be replaced with sorrow instead. A tear traced down her cheek. Her voice grew wearier. “I didn’t _call you _so you could _take over the situation, _I called you because— …because…”

There was a long silence. Martin’s voice was hushed when he prompted: “Why _did _you call me?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her answer came unwillingly. “Because…I felt like I had to.” She opened them again, and her expression was much sadder. Her voice lost its focus, its certainty, as she found herself mumbling: “I felt like…I needed to.” That wasn’t the reason. It wasn’t the reason and she knew it— and she was almost certain Martin knew it, too. She had called him because that’s what always happened. When a child…when there was a risk of parents outliving their children, or when they _did _outlive their children, those parents always had one another. They had someone that knew the pain the other felt. They supported each other. Gil could try and say he felt the same, but he didn’t. Not _really._

She’d called him on impulse because she wished it was different. She _always _wished it was different, but especially now, she wondered what it might be like. If things were different – normal – they likely wouldn’t be in this situation at all. But the thought of having someone at her side that understood, someone to be able to lean on so she didn’t have to try and be strong through it all…she wanted it to be true so badly, it made her tears well even faster. She wanted someone there with her to share the pain, and not force her to have to take the brunt of it. But she couldn’t.

As if he could read her mind, Martin said sorrowfully: “You _know _I would give _anything _to be there, Jessica. With you. And Ainsley. And Malcolm.”

She laughed. Her brief smile was bitter and more tears tracked down her face. Her expression broke, flickering with pain and sorrow so great it almost took her breath away. In the words, in the kind and soft tone, she remembered the dates they’d gone on in their youth— she remembered how Martin told her he didn’t care if she was perfect because he loved her for her. She remembered late nights staying up helping him study, quizzing him on things she herself couldn’t even begin to comprehend. She remembered rushing to hug him upon graduation, and how he’d swung her around and kissed her so hard she could feel his smile against hers. She remembered how soft and loving his smile had been as he’d held Malcolm in his arms for the first time, and how delighted he’d been when Malcolm stopped crying almost immediately. How he had beamed when Ainsley took her first steps running towards him when he got home from work.

She cringed, pain stabbing into her like the knives they’d found in her son on the floor of some dirty, abandoned factory. Each memory went by so fast, and yet she knew every single one so well that the fact didn’t matter. She covered her mouth and waited out the pain, until she was sure she wouldn’t break down and cry.

Only then did she drop her arm, tears streaming down her cheeks and choking her words when she rasped, “I wish that still meant something.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The door of each room in the ICU was made of glass. So long as the curtains weren’t pulled for privacy, you could see right into any one of them. Dani supposed it was mostly for the nurses, to be able to look up from their station and check how their patients were faring. That would be crucial, for patients in these types of states…labile ones. States that could so easily trip and fumble, and find themselves careening from good, right into bad. As they walked through the hall, her eyes were yanked into a few of them. She found herself trying to conjure up stories about what had happened to bring them here.

One room, a woman was sitting with her head bowed at the bedside of an older man. She was probably his daughter, and she was remembering times they’d shared when she was little and he took her to father-daughter dances, or told her how proud he was of her. They passed another room and she saw a man standing in the entryway, his shoulders hunched as he stared emptily at the ground. He might be a husband trying to decide whether or not he should pull his wife off life support or cling to the empty hope she might pull through. Another room, and though the curations were drawn, they could hear a woman faintly crying. The doctors might have just broken it to her as gently as they always did that though they had done everything they could, her mother was dead.

Every room, and she was trying to create the saddest scenario she could think of. Thinking, in some way, that by doing that, she was bracing herself for whatever was going to be waiting for them in _their _room. If she thought about the daughter with her dad, the husband debating whether or not to pull the plug, the sister already mourning her mother, then maybe when she had to face Malcolm – however he even looked like, at this moment – it would be less of a blow. It would be bad, but it wouldn’t be _as _bad.

She was wrong.

She could have come up with the saddest story in the world…and it _still _wouldn’t have been enough.

When she walked into that room and saw, it took everything in her to hold herself together. Jessica and Ainsley weren’t as collected— their eyes landed on him at the same time, and at the same time, they both let out strangled cries of horror and grief. Gil flinched away from the noises alone, but he also had to look away from Malcolm, unable to stomach the sight of him again so soon. Dani was the only one who was motionless, and silent. She forced herself to look at him, but it wasn’t without a severe amount of pain. Pain so sharp it felt like a knife was slicing right into her heart as she looked at him.

She had seen him before, in the warehouse. But it had been dark, and though she hated to admit it, she had been terrified. She hadn’t gotten a good look at him before the paramedics were rushing in. Now, in the harsh fluorescent light of the hospital, she could see every little bruise and injury. Which seemed to be all that comprised him, now. Every inch, there was another horrible injury to see. Both of his eyes were darkened with bruises, and his lips were cut; some areas of his face were painfully swollen from what was surely repetitive punches, or kicks. He had a gauze patch covering his entire right cheek and other butterfly bandages and little stitches holding together the skin that had been sliced apart. And yet even with those gory, painful injuries, that wasn’t even the part about his face was that was so horrible to see.

He was nothing but skin clinging desperately to bone. He was hardly recognizable at all, he had lost so much weight. His hair looked absolutely horrible. Ages of starvation had rendered it brittle and coarse-looking…and that was just in the spots there it was still there at all. Some parts had been ripped out of his skull, some parts of it had clearly been cut away purposefully, either from their killer or from the surgical team. It was rather ironic that they weren’t sure which was the culprit. Most of it was matted with blood. His beard had been cut but not well. It must have had to be trimmed for surgery, but rather haphazardly.

He wasn’t breathing for himself. A tube snaked its way down his throat, the machine it was linked to doing all the breathing for him, slowly, steadily, artificially. His left arm was still there…it was bound tightly, hidden from view, but in her mind Dani could still see the protruding, bloody bone. He had been changed into a hospital gown that was much too baggy on him. His neck was darkened with all types of bruises, yet it was almost dyed a faint yellow. So was the bit of his chest they could see— if they looked past the fact they could clearly see the ridges of his sternum and collarbone. He was still stained in the foul-smelling iodine they’d been forced to slather him with, going into emergency surgery.

His head was slack. He looked like he had finally been given the chance to sleep for the first time in an entire year. He looked peaceful, and serene. It didn’t match the wail that ripped itself out of Jessica’s mouth when she saw her son. She clapped a hand over her mouth as if she could possibly smother the anguished sobs that were forcing their way out of her. Once she started, she couldn’t stop. She was hyperventilating, staring at her son in pure shock as he continued to sleep, completely oblivious. Gil sidled over to her, reaching out like he was making sure she wouldn’t collapse. She certainly seemed at risk to.

They had just finished wheeling the bed into the room. Another nurse was in the middle of speaking with the ICU nurse. “…dysrhythmias. He has a lot of serious pressure ulcers on his sides and his back, I’ve documented them all and dressed them, but he has three stage threes on his—” The soft murmuring was cut short with Jessica’s half-scream, half-sob. They both whipped around immediately, not realizing they would be up so soon. The ICU nurse was immediately softening, likely preparing herself to give the speech they gave all distraught parents. That they could rest, that they were going to do everything they could for him, that it was going to be alright. But Jessica wasn’t in the mood to listen to another speech like that.

Gil was beginning to reach out, but she smacked his hand away. She slapped him off without even glancing at him, before she started running for Malcolm. She wasn’t even bothering to try and keep herself together when she leaned down and grabbed him, sobbing louder and harder than Gil or even _Ainsley_ had ever heard her cry before. The nurses attempted to object, but Jessica wasn’t listening. She bent low, gathering her son’s too-thin frame in her arms. She only shifted him the tiniest bit off of the mattress. It was only enough so she could hug him around the shoulders. She didn’t move him that much— at least she kept her wits about her enough to remember that much.

She held him and sobbed, burying her head against his chest. She felt his bones poke at her; she smelled that awful iodine and the even more awful stench of that warehouse. Her crying was muffled into his gown but it in no way lessened the pain that was inflicted on everyone gathered, as they found they could only stare at her in shock as she started wailing mindlessly. _“Oh, God! Oh God, oh God!” _Malcolm didn’t react to her hug— to her screaming. All that happened was his head tilted back a little more, highlighting his bruising, and his right arm slid from his chest to fall limp on the bed. Lifeless.

Jessica took in a gasp and let it out in a broken keen. _“My baby!” _Ainsley spun around, doing the only thing she could think of and turning away, pressing her forehead to the wall and cringing as she covered her ears. She was trying not to cry but she was losing the battle fast. Dani found herself putting an arm around her. She told herself it was just to comfort her and make sure she was okay. But she knew the real reason was she just couldn’t stomach the sight of Jessica cradling her son and sobbing into his chest. Gasping and crying senselessly, even when Gil forced himself to go over and try to ease her off, croaking out thick sobs of, “Jessica— …Jessica, you _have_ to let go of him…”

She just shrugged him off, sobbing louder. She clung to her son even tighter. _“What did he do to my baby!?” _she practically gagged, crying too hard between each word to even take in a proper choke of air. She refused to let go of him, refused to pick her head up. All she could do was scream. _“What did he do to my baby— Malcolm! Oh, God…I was supposed to protect you, why didn’t I protect you!?” _

Malcolm just lay there. Unresponsive in his mother’s arms.

Deaf to all the crying that the others wished they could block out themselves.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jessica and Ainsley pulled chairs up to Malcolm’s bedside and sat faithfully all night long, so terrified, they hardly even wanted to blink, because they were worried something would happen to him when their eyes were closed for that split second. Jessica held her son’s right hand in both of hers, only letting go every so often to run one hand soothingly up and down his arm. She never let go of him with the other. Dani sat in a chair in the corner, staring at her friend with hollow remorse. Gil stayed at the door, not even allowing himself the relief to sit down.

Shortly after they settled, the nurse came into the room, carrying masks and gloves. Her expression was sympathetic when she looked at Jessica, still clinging to her son’s hand. “I’m sorry…you all need to put these on,” she murmured. Jessica’s face fell as she just stared at the protective wear. The nurse had pressed a gentle: “His immune system is very weak. We don’t want to increase his risk for infection.”

She only cried more, when she had to hold his hand through gloves.

The sun sank and the room grew dark. Nobody even tried to close their eyes. They just stared and waited, though they weren’t even really sure what they were waiting for at the moment. Malcolm to wake up? Not with that tube down his throat. For things to get better? Not this quickly. Every time a nurse or a tech walked into the room, even if it was just to glance around and make sure everything was still okay, all eyes were going to them. When they were doing _anything _the atmosphere got ten times thicker.

When they took his blood pressure and it was 80/41, they were staring intently at the tech, to try and gauge whether or not they should be as scared of the number as they were. When the nurse came in and started _yet another_ blood infusion and stayed in the room watching over him, they were looking nervously from him to her, dying to ask so many questions that they couldn’t get out a single one. In the rare moments nobody was in surveying or checking him, they were just wondering how long it would be before someone _was, _terrified of the idea of what could be happening in the moments he was left unmonitored.

The sun crawled its way up into the sky bit by agonizing bit. No matter how much brighter the room got, though, the atmosphere stayed just as dark. No matter how many hours dragged by, nobody ran out of tears. Ainsley and Jessica kept sniffing. Gil kept wiping his eyes. Dani’s chest stayed feeling hollow and empty.

It was around noon, when she couldn’t take it anymore. When she felt like screaming, like punching the wall, like breaking down. When she would calm down and stop crying, only to remember how earnestly Malcolm had looked at her, and how soft his voice had been when he’d urged, “You can trust me.” When she reminded herself for the millionth time, that _he _had trusted _them. _And that they had let him down. They’d failed him. And there was no reversing that fact.

The fact came back to once again slam into her, but this time she couldn’t stomach it. Abruptly, she got up to her feet. Everyone looked to her immediately. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, and she cleared her throat. “I was thinking of…going back and getting some things,” she murmured. She didn’t want to leave, and yet the thought of getting a second to take in a deep breath was so guiltily relieving. “I was thinking…you know some…changes of clothes…and other stuff…” It would be a drive, but she was becoming painfully aware of how long she had been wearing this outfit.

No sooner did the thought cross her mind did he remember Malcolm.

She immediately felt ten times as horrible.

Everyone just nodded. Nobody said anything.

Dani looked at Gil. “I could…stop by your place…?” she offered weakly.

At first he seemed too distracted to even hear her. He’d gone back to staring at Malcolm. With this, he roused, and dragged his eyes back to her. “Oh— yeah, that…that would be…thank you.” He reached back into his pocket and offered her his key, thinking to himself that he had been in such a rush in the first place, his place likely wasn’t even locked. Dani looked at the others. “And…Mrs. Whitly? …Ainsley? I could…get something for you, too?”

Ainsley said nothing. Jessica’s voice was a hoarse rasp. “No thank you. We can…have our driver get them.” She forced herself to meet her gaze, only for a couple of seconds. It just a fleeting glance— no more than a second, before she was hunching back over her son. “That’s very kind of you, though…” she breathed. Dani’s heart wrenched as she watched her run her fingers gently over the top of his hand, tracing every knuckle and finger. As she listened to her sniff again, more muffled behind the surgical mask.

She managed a tiny nod. She opened her mouth to say something, but she didn’t know what it was. She ended up just turning and leaving the room, taking off the gloves and mask once the crossed the threshold, yet feeling no relief whatsoever. She still felt suffocated. Even when she left the ICU, even when she got outside and had her first breath of fresh air in what felt like forever. Even then, she felt like she was trapped, and stuck. When she got in her car and pulled out of the hospital parking lot, she tried to roll down the windows, and help remind herself that she wasn’t. That she was just fine. But it didn’t work.

Even then, she felt cornered.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Malcolm was breathing heavily. Each of his gasps was ragged and weak. His left cheek was split open, as was his lower lip. Blood was running down the side of his face. The second he started to push himself up, Winston kicked him again, square in the stomach. With a strangled choke, he fell, curling up in his shock. Before he was given the chance to recover, he kicked out hard and caught him in the ribs, sending him sprawling. He grabbed the back of his coat and yanked him up; right as he was about to slam him back to the ground, Malcolm was twisting around with an enraged yell, grabbing hard to his arm and bending it back as he threw his weight with it.

Winston let out a cry of pain at the unexpected retaliation. Malcolm yanked his legs up to his chest and snapped them back out, catching him right in the head. The second he was falling away from him, Malcolm was scrambling up to his feet. His eyes were blazing with hope as he started running for the stairs. He was unsteady on his feet, tripping over himself, not only winded from pain, but weak from a lack of food. Nevertheless, he reached the stairs and started running. He made it nearly halfway, before Winston was suddenly back up and sprinting after.

He just barely grabbed his legs, but yanked as hard as he could. Unprepared, Malcolm slammed down again. He fell and screamed when his forehead cracked against the edge of one of the steps. The agony paralyzed him, and Winston dragged him back downstairs the rest of the way again. Malcolm didn’t fight, this time. When he threw him to the floor he fell in a heap and didn’t try to get up. Winston was breathing a little unsteadily— he stared down at him as he curled up on his side, holding his head in his hands and hyperventilating weakly through the pain.

“You’re a fighter…you can take a sedative, _and _a punch,” Winston remarked, his voice cool and blank. Malcolm grimaced as he started to roll onto his back. There was a nasty slice cutting into his forehead. “You’re _tough_…Marvin didn’t even make three weeks. Here you are, still fighting. How’s it feel?” Malcolm had pressed his hand to his forehead. When he pulled it away, his palm was red. Winston crouched down, observing him like he was a science experiment. “Do you feel strong?” Malcolm just groaned. Winston shifted out to nudge him hard with his toe, eliciting yet another cry. “I asked you how it _feels, _Malcolm.”

“What do you want me to say?” he choked out.

“Tell me how it feels to be on day sixty-one,” he insisted. “To be _fighting, _still. Do you feel powerful? Or do you feel _small?” _Malcolm cringed and said nothing. Winston shook his head. Without warning he grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him up, shoving him back against the wall. Malcolm automatically brought his legs in against his chest, reverting to this defensive position. Winston cracked a smile. It was evident in his voice when he spoke. “Are you glad you’re alive?” he pressed. Malcolm’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. “Or do you wish you were dead instead?”

Malcolm was swaying a little, blood tracking down the side of his face and matting in his hair. Eventually, he found words. He barely breathed them out. “Which one would _you_ rather have done?” Winston’s smile vanished. Malcolm’s breathing was beginning to even. His voice was much soberer when he pressed: “When you were hurt…did you wish you had died, instead?” Winston pressed his lips together tightly. He didn’t speak, but he started breathing heavier through his nose.

The silence was earsplitting.

Malcolm pressed: “Are you glad you’re alive? …Or do you wish you’d died?”

He barely had time to finish the question before Winston’s fist was smashing into his jaw. Malcolm choked when he sagged to the side, bracing himself on his arm and hissing. He was back to holding his face. “You don’t know _anything,” _he spat.

“Then _tell me,” _Malcolm rivaled, shoving himself back up. Despite how weak and beaten and exhausted he was, his gaze sparked with fire. Eight weeks without much food and constant beatings had taken a lot out of him and yet he was still struggling not to bend. _“Tell _me what makes you the expert.”

Winston grabbed his collar, yanking him close. Malcolm braced himself for a punch, but it didn’t come. All that happened, was Winston yanked him until he was a millimeter away from his face. At first he seemed too enraged to talk; he just stared Malcolm down. When he did speak, it was through clenched teeth. _“Foster system…kidnapped…fighting in a war…house fire…even _you…_none of it compares,” _he spat.

Malcolm didn’t try to pull away. His voice was tense when he whispered back: “To _what? Tell me. _You haven’t answered me yet. Are you going to avoid it now, too? _Again?”_

Again, there was silence. Before… “My dad left when I was five.” Malcolm stiffened and his eyes flashed. It was clear he hadn’t actually thought he’d answer. “It was just my mom and me…and then my little sister, not long after. My mom did the best she could. She worked at a bar. We didn’t have much, but we had each other. Just us, and a house far away in the woods, like this one.” Despite the words, his voice was clogged and thick with rage. “So when a man followed my mom home one night, it was just us to try and fend him off. And we couldn’t. Mom told me to take my sister and hide. We tried…but it was no use.

“We hid in the closet but he found us. Dragged us out. He’d already tied Mom up to the kitchen chair. He had a gun and told us to sit, too. Tied us up.” Malcolm’s defenses had fallen. Now, he was staring at him with genuine sorrow. Winston continued, his voice only getting rougher. “He said as long as we did whatever he asked us to, we’d live. There was no one around for miles…we didn’t have a choice. Three days, he tortured us. He beat me within an inch of my life, over and over. He beat my mom, and my sister the same way. No amount of begging stopped him. And when he got bored of that he started violating my mom over and over again…while we were _forced to watch.” _His voice grew even weaker. “And when he got bored of _that, _he moved onto my little sister. She was _six!_

_“Three days…_no food, not water, just torture, every single minute. Until we were all more dead than alive. And then he decided he was bored with all of us. He got out his gun again and he shot my mom in the stomach, so we would have to watch her bleed out. He shot my sister in the head, so I had to watch her brain splatter on the wall. Right as he was about to shoot me, _that’s _when the cops arrived. _That’s _when they shot him. Not ten minutes before, when my family might have been saved, too.” He was scowling hard, his lips shaking. “I was barely alive. I had to recover on my own. I had to continue on my own. I had to have nightmares and I had to live with it all. From age _eleven.”_

Malcolm sat heavily with the story. He didn’t even seem to register he was still being held up threateningly, so close. “I’m so sorry…” Winston only locked his jaw back. Slowly, Malcolm reached up, only to put his hands gently on his wrists. There was nothing but genuine heartache in his voice and his eyes when he murmured: “Nobody should have to go through that…I’m so sorry you were forced to…”

He hesitated, before he started to hedge forward reluctantly. “You _were…so _strong to have gotten through that…but…is _this _the right way to move on? To hurt other people…the way you were hurt? Don’t you remember being on the other end? Don’t you remember…how _scared_ you felt?” He barely managed to get this out. “You’ve hurt so many people— you’ve _killed _so many people—”

“I’ve _outlasted _so many people!” Winston roared, and Malcolm flinched away from the sudden scream. “I’ve outlasted _everyone, _and I’m going to outlast _you_, too. You’re no different from the rest of them— you’re _weak, and pathetic! None of you know what real suffering is!” _Malcolm didn’t respond. He was trying to think. But Winston wasn’t in the mood to wait. He glowered at him, before he reasoned in a cold voice: “I’ve had enough of you for today, it’s time for you to go to sleep again.”

He threw him down, but Malcolm didn’t even register the slam. His eyes were growing wide and wild; he was immediately trying to scramble up, not trying to make for the steps but scuttling away into the corner instead, like a scared crab. “No— _no, no, please don’t— please don’t give me it, I can’t— please!” _He was immediately falling to pieces, and only panicked harder when Winston reached back into his jacket for the familiar syringe and vial. Every video, and if Malcolm wasn’t being beaten he was being sedated against his will. He’d grown more and more desperate with each one. Now, he was practically shaking, right at its mention. Winston crept closer, enjoying it as he started crying out in escalating fear: “Please— _please don’t sedate me, I’ll— please, I’ll do anything, just let me stay up! Please!”_

Winston crouched; before Malcolm could try and fight back, he was putting an arm hard across his chest, planting him in place. Malcolm cried and tried to twist but it was no use. He started to line up the needle, so many bruises and puncture marks lining his neck from the other times he had stuck him. “You’ve talked too much today, Malcolm— you must be exhausted,” he cooed.

_“I have a sister, too!” _This got him to stop. Malcolm was desperate; in the thick of his panic he was blurting this out. Tears had already been beading at his eyes but now they were welling faster. His voice grew thicker as he started to cry, “I have a little sister, too—we were all we had growing up, too, me my mom and my sister! _Please— _think of your family! How scared they were! My family’s probably so scared— they’re wondering where I am, they’re missing me, they want me to come home!” He sucked in a harsh breath, beginning to sob and break down the longer he went. “I have a little sister too, and I love her so much— she loves me, she’s missing me, she wants me to come home just like _your_ little sister would have wanted you to come home, _please— please, no, NO!”_

His sobbing hitched into terrified screeching when Winston scowled and shook himself out of it, disregarding what he was saying and just stabbing the needle into him. Malcolm started screaming, desperate, terrified, furious screams, thrashing and kicking and trying to get him off in any way he could, but there was no use. He’d gone too long without eating— he wasn’t a match. The second the plunger was pushed to its end and the drug was injected, his futile efforts were dying. He cried and screamed for just a few seconds more, but even those were fast to fade. He trailed off mid-screech, slumping over. Winston simply shoved himself off of him, to let him hit the floor.

He sat for a few moments, watching him. Then he turned and made for the camera set up in the corner. The video stopped.

Dani stared at the screen dully, her eyes stuck on Malcolm’s bloody, bruised, and now limp form. She felt like she was going to be sick. She was painfully aware of the fact that JT was staring a hole through her. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. There were no words to describe the hurt she felt, hearing Malcolm’s terrified screaming, seeing his desperate hope. The rage she felt when she looked at this horrible man who had subjected him to so much already, yet still had ten more months to go. When she finally got something out, it was just a whisper. Her voice was choked with tears. “Sixty-one…”

JT’s voice didn’t sound like his, either. He sounded exhausted and strained. “Every video before this— he’d only wake Malcolm up to hurt him. Otherwise he was putting him right back under. Breaking him down that way, too.” Dani remembered when she had first met Malcolm, and that scene he’d made when he’d accidentally fallen asleep and had his night terror. How, when she had hugged him, she’d felt him shaking and gasping. He read the question she was too scared to get out. He looked away, back at the screen. His voice got even quieter. “It’s…as bad as you think it would be.”

Dani’s eyes burned even more when JT asked his own question. “How’s he doing?” He purposefully wasn’t looking at her. His expression was tightly pinched and controlled; she could tell he was fighting tooth and nail to keep himself in check. She could see how he really felt in the fact that his hands were curled so tightly they were almost shaking. His lips were pursed, like he was keeping so much back.

She wiped her eyes, hoping he wouldn’t notice but knowing that he did. “He’s…not…he’s not okay,” she managed, and if there was any question as to whether or not she was crying, it was given away by how thick her voice came out. She cringed, shutting her eyes and trying to take a deep breath. “He’s…got so many…infections, he lost his…kidney, his appendix…he’s intubated...” JT’s hands clenched even tighter. “He hasn’t woken up. He…” She trailed off, her expression breaking. She covered her face with her hands. “He might lose his arm,” she forced out.

He looked at her, his eyes about ten times their normal size. She kept her face hidden, and tried to not to let her shoulders shake too much. There was unspeakable rage flooding JT’s expression, but once he heard her sniff – _Dani, _who never batted an eye about _anything _– it was all leaving him like air let out of a balloon. His face fell, and his shoulders drooped. Despair started to weigh on his chest.

He stared at her for ages. Eventually, he rasped: “He pled guilty.”

She just kept crying. Knowing that it didn’t even matter, at this point. Not really.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Dani came back late that night, even quieter than usual but with bags in tow. Nobody really thought much about the newfound shininess to her eyes, and the heavier way she looked at Malcolm. They just glanced at her before focusing on him again, which was as good a ‘hello’ as she was going to get. At some point, Ainsley left to go to the lobby and retrieve their things, when their driver brought them. One by one, they all took showers and changed into clean clothes, hoping, by extension, that they would feel better. That somehow, by getting clean they would be able to wash away everything that had happened.

Funnily enough, they felt no different afterwards.

They were in different clothes but nothing else had changed.

They waited all day. Gil paced. Jessica’s eyes never strayed from her son, and neither did her hands. At some point, Ainsley dozed off. She leaned forward more and more until her head found a home on the edge of her brother’s hospital bed. She slept sitting hunched awkwardly like that, a few millimeters away from him. By the time she woke up, it was morning again. Her first impulse was to become wracked with guilt, when she realized she’d fallen asleep; the feeling only got worse when she realized everyone was already awake. Or they’d never fallen asleep in the first place. She looked at the clock. It was almost eight in the morning.

She sat up fast, blinking away the grogginess that was still clinging to her.

Her mother looked at her, but it wasn’t reproachfully like she almost anticipated. It was gently, and sympathetically. It just made her guilt even worse. She rubbed her eyes and inhaled sharply as she looked back at Malcolm. He looked the exact same, but she still asked: “Did I miss anything?”

The softness left her mother’s eyes. She looked back at her son, her expression clouding. Her reply was soft. “The doctor hasn’t been in yet. His blood pressure was up a little bit more, though.” Despite the positive meaning, her voice was hollow. Ainsley deflated. She searched her brother’s face but found nothing new, there.

After a couple of seconds, she realized how sick she felt. It hit her that she hadn’t eaten at all, since this entire thing had started. She’d been so distracted the fact hadn’t registered. Now, she felt faint and nauseous. “Mom, have you eaten anything?” Had _any _of them? Dani could have, when she’d left the hospital. But unless they’d eaten while she was asleep, nobody else had left this room otherwise. Sure enough, Jessica gave a tiny singular shake of the head. Ainsley wilted again. “Well…you _need_ to eat something.”

“I’m not hungry,” she murmured.

Ainsley frowned. She looked at Gil, asking for help. He perked, having to realize what they were even talking about in the first place. Once he got it, his eyes flashed. He cleared his throat, slipping his hands into his pockets as he took a couple steps forward. “Jessica…we can step down to the café and get something small. It’ll only be a couple of minutes.” She shook her head again. “It might be good for you to—” He broke off when, without warning, she was looking up and shooting him a withering glare. One that sparked with warning, with anger, with something akin to loathing. He snapped his mouth closed, and his face fell. He was rendered speechless, even when she looked back down at Malcolm.

Dani looked between the two of them before she stood up. She went over to Gil and touched his shoulder gently. He looked at her like he was asking what he was supposed to do. She was trying her best to know that, so she would feel less worthless. “We can go down,” she murmured. She glanced at the Whitlys and caught Ainsley’s pleading look. “We’ll bring something up for the two of you.” The blonde relaxed immediately, giving her a grateful smile. “We’ll be back soon,” she promised, and Ainsley nodded.

Dani turned and led the way out. Gil started to follow but he hesitated one last time. He looked over his shoulder, his eyes flickering from Malcolm to Jessica. Ainsley did her best to give him an apologetic look, but if he noticed, it didn’t seem to help. When he left, his expression still looked like it weighed a million pounds. Ainsley’s face fell as she watched him walk away. She looked at her mother, suddenly very aware of how pressuring the silence was. It was practically wringing her around the throat. She looked at her brother – at the person that was _supposed_ to be her brother but she couldn’t even really recognize right now – and closed her eyes. It hurt her to say it, but she forced it out anyway.

“It wasn’t his fault, Mom…” she mumbled.

To her surprise, she was immediately firing back: “He brought Malcolm onto the case.” Her voice was gravelly and hoarse with tears.

“I’m _sure _Malcolm put _himself _on the case…”

She shot her a freezing look. “Are you saying this is _his _fault?” she practically spat.

Ainsley’s heart tore. She looked away, feeling her eyes sting. “It’s none of our faults,” she breathed.

Jessica looked like she wanted to keep fighting. But she either must have realized Ainsley wouldn’t bend to it, or she just didn’t have the energy anymore. She turned back to Malcolm. Ainsley saw her try to wipe her eyes without letting her know she was crying. She decided she would let her think she had her fooled. They sat in silence for ages. Seconds felt like hours, to them.

Ainsley was just beginning to get out her phone, when her mother suddenly spoke, her voice just a croak. “He doesn’t even _look _like himself.” Ainsley’s heart squeezed when she followed her gaze. As she looked at his bad shaving job, at how long and tangled his hair was, and how matted it still was, with blood. No— it didn’t look like her brother. Not at all. It made her chest tighten and her throat burn. She found herself unable to speak. Another tear fell down Jessica’s face when she reached out and traced the back of her fingers down his unbandaged cheek, feather-light so she wouldn’t hurt any of the injuries there. She lingered for a moment; Ainsley thought she was going to stay like that. Frozen.

But her eyes flashed, and suddenly she stood and left. Ainsley watched her mother let go of her brother’s hand. Seeing it felt wrong. Without thinking about it, she automatically took over. She reached out and took her brother’s hand in hers, having to suppress a shiver when she felt how thin and bony he was. The lump in her throat only grew. An entire year of waiting, of hoping for this very thing to happen— for her brother to be found…suddenly, she couldn’t think of anything worse. She had no idea what he went through but the injuries were close enough to get a general picture. And that alone was making her ill. The thought of him spending every day in that hell was ripping the breath right out of her. She stiffened when she felt a tear run down the side of her face. She was quick to brush it away.

The second she did, her mother was coming back. Ainsley’s eyebrows knitted when she realized she was holding scissors and a stack of washcloths. She was so tired and hungry that at first she didn’t make the connection. But when her mother stopped by the sink and got the washcloths soaked, she realized. She brought them all back and wordlessly, Ainsley took one. “Just be very careful,” Jessica warned, taking her seat again. “Be gentle. And mindful of the stitches.” There was no missing them. But Ainsley just nodded.

Moving ever so slowly and gently, the two started to try and work on getting the blood out of his hair. There was a lot. Ainsley didn’t even really realize how _much_ there was, until, with just one small blot, the white cloth was already smearing with red. She made sure there wasn’t any injury, then gently sectioned off some of the locks, squeezing them between the cloth and gently pulling down, trying to get as much out as she could. The process was slow, thanks to the fact they didn’t want to hurt him. And they weren’t even really sure how well they were doing in the first place. But nonetheless, they tried.

Gradually, they began to get the red out of his hair. The longer she worked, the more Jessica’s eyes burned. She pressed her lips together tightly and tried to concentrate on taking in slower breaths. As she cleaned her son’s hair, she was reminded of all the time she’d fixed his hair when he was a boy. He always _hated _when she messed with his hair. He hated staying still for extended periods of times. He would wiggle and whine and stomp his foot and glare. She would always snap at him to just relax and wait, and it would just make him even more irritable. She remembered how often she’d thought to herself with exasperation that he was a nightmare to fix. That she wished he would just stay _still._

Now, he wasn’t moving at all.

Once they got his hair as ‘washed’ as they figured was possible at the moment, Jessica took in a deep breath and traded her washcloth – now soiled and bloody – for the scissors she had borrowed from a nurse. Ainsley reverted back to holding Malcolm’s hand, just watching emptily as Jessica started to cut. Starting off was easy. She cut off inches of it at once and threw the dirty, bloody hair into the trash. Once she hacked away most of it, the job became more detailed— it got harder, when she had to get it right.

She wasn’t all that experienced when it came to cutting hair, but she did her best. She got it short again— the usual length that he kept it. She was sure that it wouldn’t be nearly as good— that there would be imperfections here and there, but she was doing her best to try and make sure the inconsistencies were minimal. She tried to get it as close as humanly possible. Once she got it short enough, she grabbed another wet washcloth and wiped her hands. From there, she tried to smooth his hair back and get it to stick with just water. As she did, she noticed the spots where his hair had been torn out. Biting back on her pain, she teased and moved it so that the hair he _did_ have might hide those spots, along with some of the stitches he had.

It wasn’t the best job, but it was decent. Once she did it to the best of her ability, she took her hands back and looked at him. Ainsley sat up more, her eyes lighting up, both with pain and with happiness. A smile traced itself over Jessica’s face as she looked at him. Tears started to smear her vision, but she could still see. This entire time, she had been staring at him – had hardly taken her _eyes_ off of him – but she hadn’t _seen him. _He had looked so different, riddled with injuries, with the long, awful hair, that it had felt as though she was staring at a stranger.

Now, she could recognize her son. His hair wasn’t perfect, but it was short the way it always was, and his hair was smoothed back, out of his face, the way he always preferred it. His face still need to be shaved the rest of the way and he was still much too skinny, but she could _see _him, more. She recognized the person she had watched grow up, the child she loved. Tears started rushing down her face when she sniffed. She reached out and put her hand against his cheek, running her thumb back and forth. Her lips shook as she beamed, wearing an expression halfway between happiness and horrible, horrible pain.

_“There _you are,” she breathed out shakily, her eyes going much softer as she sniffed again.

Ainsley smiled, too, in the same exact saddened way. She grabbed his hand again and squeezed just a fraction, for some reason feeling the lightest she’d felt this entire time. He wasn’t any better, but at least he looked more like her brother again. She sniffed, wiping at her eyes with her other hand and starting to glance out the door to see whether or not Dani and Gil were getting back, yet. She was sure that seeing Malcolm like this again would put him over the moon, which was what he sorely needed, at this point.

But the second she turned, she felt something move, in her grasp.

She whirled back around, catching the very end of Malcolm’s hand twitching in hers. _Moving._

“Mom!” Her cry was sudden, made even more so with the fact that compared to the whispers they’d been using before, this was much too loud. But she wasn’t paying any mind to that. Her eyes were wide, and once the shock died away, she started to beam. Jessica stiffened at first, dreading something bad. But Ainsley’s smile was telling her something different. “He moved! His hand, his hand moved!” Jessica’s eyes widened. Ainsley held to him with both hands now as she leaned a little closer. “Malcolm?” They were staring at him with endless intensity, looking for even a _tiny_ bit of life on his face. His eyes didn’t even flicker. _“Malcolm?” _she pressed, a little weaker. There was nothing.

Jessica took in a deep breath, leaning down a little more. She kept her hand on his cheek; she started running her thumb back and forth again, adding just a fraction more pressure. Not enough to harm him but maybe enough to get his attention. “Malcolm?” she whispered, too scared to speak in anything louder. Her voice broke, with her desperation. “Malcolm? _Sweetheart, _can you hear me?” She sniffed and waited, and sniffed again when she still received nothing back. She moved to put her other hand on his other cheek, being more careful with that one since it was also bandaged. She cradled his face in her hands. She tried not to cry, but she already was, by the time she spoke again. “Sweetheart— everything’s okay. You’re in the hospital— you’re safe now…can you hear me?”

Ainsley waited, her heart in her throat.

But Malcolm was the same as he’d been. Face still lax, chest rising and falling artificially. His hand didn’t move again. “Maybe…it was just a twitch,” she murmured, looking down at his hand, resting in her own. Disappointment was like a slap in the face, like salt in a wound. “Maybe it wasn’t anything.”

For a moment it looked like Jessica might scream. Like she might wail and cling to him like she had when they’d first arrived. Her expression began to crumble. Before she took in a gasp and forced herself to smile, and soften. She ran her thumbs along his cheeks again. “That’s alright,” she murmured. Ainsley kept her eyes pointedly on Malcolm’s hand, her mother’s voice practically shattering her heart to pieces, it was so loving but so empty at the same time. “You can take your time…we’ll stay right here, for you…”

Ainsley nodded; the gesture was obviously more for herself than it was for Malcolm. Though frustration filled her to the brim, rubbing salt in her already-gaping wound, she told herself she had to keep patience. They had _been_ waiting for a year, now. The only thing she wanted was to be able to see her brother look at her, to hear his voice and have the fact cement in her mind that he was actually okay and that all of this was over. Now, they were so close, and yet they _still _had to wait. It was maddening.

She was preoccupied trying to keep herself in check, when a sudden noise got her head snapping up. Her mother was still holding Malcolm’s face in her hands, but she looked up just as fast. Both of their eyes flew to the monitor at his bedside and widened when they realized that was the source of the unanticipated alarm. His heart rate was getting faster— it wasn’t consistent anymore, like it had been. They waited for it to right itself, or for the machine to stop malfunctioning, but neither of those things happened. The alarm kept blaring.

“Malcolm?” Jessica looked back down at her son, paling. He looked just as unchanged, but she knew something was wrong. “Malcolm?” she tried again.

Suddenly there was a hand on her back. Jessica whirled around and she froze when she realized it was the nurse. “Ma’am, please move.” She was polite, but there was something clipped about her voice; she was in a rush. When Jessica didn’t move at first she stepped forward anyway, and practically shouldered her off of her son. She would have been furious had she not been so scared. All she could do was watch anxiously as the nurse looked at the monitor and, with expert hands, unbuttoned one sleeve of his gown so she could pull it away and check the placement of his leads. She reached for his right arm— Ainsley hurried to let go so the nurse could feel his pulse.

“What’s wrong?” Ainsley demanded. The nurse said nothing, too busy putting her stethoscope on and listening to his heart. She leaned forward, her hands clenching. “Is he okay? What’s going on?”

The nurse’s eyes flickered to her only for a moment. Her voice was tighter. “There’s been a change in his condition— I’m sorry, I might need to have you step out.”

“Step out?” Jessica repeated, still struggling between fear and indignation. “Why—”

The nurse got her phone out of her pocket, pressing a button and holding it against her ear with her shoulder as she reached out and smacked a button on the wall. “Rapid Response needed in room 463,” she said bluntly, before just hanging up and shoving it back into her pocket.

Already, other staff members were rushing into the room, confused and alarmed. “You pressed staff emergency?” one of them asked, their eyes going to the monitor.

“Yeah— he’s in afib, I need help until Rapid Response gets here.” A few of the nurses rushed in. Ainsley had to stand up and stumble away, to avoid being plowed over. “Someone get me ten milligrams of verapamil. And the crash cart— we need to start cardioversion.” She tried to hide the next part, but Ainsley heard when she turned to another staff member and hissed: “Get them _out_ of here.”

The tech immediately turned, smiling sympathetically and reaching out to herd them for the door like they were lost sheep. “If you’d like to step out with me,” they invited. Ainsley opened her mouth to object, but nothing came. She wanted to fight, she wanted to stay with her brother, but she couldn’t voice it. “We’re going to do everything we can for him, but we’re gonna need the room to do that.”

She got them out into the hall and away from the door, before Jessica finally got control of herself. “I— you can’t keep me from my son!” she objected, that fire leaking back to her.

“Nobody is trying to keep you from your son,” they consoled. “We just want to be able to help him, and we can’t do as well that with family in the room.”

“What’s _happening?” _she demanded, growing furious. “Tell me what’s happening with my son!”

“He’s just developed an abnormal heart rhythm; they’re going to try and fix the issue before it progresses—”

“To _what!?” _she demanded. "Someone needs to tell me what's going on!" Down the hall, a group of people was running. She watched them sprint down the hall and into her son’s room.

She started to rush after them, but the tech was throwing out an arm. She fixed her with a furious glare. Her expression was apologetic. “I can’t force you to stay out of the room,” she relented. “But they really _will_ work better _without _you there.” Her face fell. Her shoulders went slack. “I understand you’re upset and I understand you want to be with your son right now, but I _also _understand how upsetting it would be for you to have to watch this, too.”

A bit of her glare came back. “This entire _thing _has been _upsetting,” _she hissed. "You have no idea what this has been like for us, and now you're saying I can't see my own son and make sure he's okay!"

“I know,” the tech murmured, and her tone was once again getting her to wilt. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Whitly. I can’t imagine how it feels for you right now. But...we’re doing everything we can to make sure—”

_“Please _don’t say that.” Her voice was choked with furious tears. Their face fell guiltily, when they realized, and when they saw how watery her eyes were becoming. She shook her head, staring forlornly towards Malcolm’s hospital room, and listening to all the indistinct voices going back and forth. “Please don’t say that, I _cannot _listen to another person say that…I…I _can’t.”_ She stared for a couple of moments, before she turned to Ainsley, realizing her daughter was looking just as overwhelmed. She noticed when her brown eyes caught on something behind her. Jessica turned.

Gil and Dani were coming down the hall. They’d started walking normally, but now they were slowing, confusion and fear crawling over their faces when they started to see that something was wrong. Jessica glanced at the tech before she scowled and gave up. She turned and hurried to meet the pair in the middle. Ainsley rushed to follow. Gil looked at Jessica as if he was a deer in headlights. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

Ainsley was the one who answered. Suddenly, seeing him again, Jessica’s mouth was too dry. “Something went wrong with his heart,” she explained weakly, stifling a sniff. “They’re trying to fix it.”

“With his heart?” They were both carrying carryout boxes for the other two with the intent of persuading them to eat. Nobody’s mind was on food, anymore. Gil’s anxiety only worsened. “Why? What— what is it? What are they doing for it?”

“They wanted us out— they said…they called…Rapid Response?” She looked at her mother with confusion as she tried to tease out the term.

“Rapid Response?” Dani asked. Ainsley just looked at her despairingly. “That’s— that’s a _good_ thing, though, right? It’s better than them calling a—”

As if the universe had heard the exact question she was beginning to ask, a voice came over the loudspeaker of the hospital. The voice was calm, but the instant they heard it, they knew. Their faces paled, their _own _hearts stopped. Jessica and Ainsley turned slowly, robotically. All four of them looked absolutely terrified as they just and stared at Malcolm’s room. Listening to footsteps start coming from every which direction as staff rushed to his room. Listening to the voices get louder. But listening mostly to the voice over the intercom.

“Code Blue. Main hospital. ICU. Room 463. Repeat: Code Blue. Main hospital. ICU. Room 463.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took some time, I kept trying to mess with it and back it better. I hope you like this chapter, I did my best to make it good! This chapter has much more Malcolm in it and from this point on he'll be just as central a character again! As will the other characters; this is the last one that focuses mainly on him, Jessica, Gil, and Ainsley.  
I really hope you guys all like it! If you do, I would love to hear it from you in a review! I'm updating the tags for this chapter so make you look at that. I tried to get as many typos out of here as possible but it's 33 pages so please excuse a couple! I'll try to fix any more that I see crop up. But yeah! I hope I get to hear from you all with this new chapter! I'm gonna try to write a whole lot once winter break starts and hearing feedback from you all will really help on that!  
Thank you so much for reading!! I really appreciate it! <3

The staff didn’t look triumphant. They didn’t look as though they’d _achieved_ anything.

When all was over and done with, they just filed away in silence. Not even murmuring. No smiling.

Their nurse had stayed, and _she_ had smiled for them. It was practiced, but at least she was _trying _to lie. At least she was making the effort.

But any effort was rendered useless, when she spoke.

When she told them that they’d managed to stabilize him again.

“We got him back, this time,” she’d said, grinning that fake, forced smile.

_That _was what made everything else not matter. That was the reason Jessica still cried, Gil still supporting her, ensuring she wouldn’t fall. That was the reason she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. Why the room still spun. That was the reason she knew the show of reassurance didn’t matter.

Those two words ruined it all.

‘This time.’

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He remembered that day. The warm lights of the kitchen. The smell of apple pie. The happiness that came with knowing that every single person in the room was someone he cared for, and wanted to be with. The way he had smiled affectionately at the three when nobody was paying attention— of knowing that when nobody was looking in his direction, he didn’t have to try and hide the fact his chest was warm with love. They’d passed many nights like that, and yet for some reason, _this_ one was a night he remembered more the most. Maybe because it perfectly encapsulated the happiness he always used to have, back then.

_Jackie was humming. He was leaning against the far kitchen counter, tired from a long day at work. He’d been planning to go straight to bed, but when he’d gotten home, he’d realized the two Whitly kids were over. They’d started doing that, more and more lately. They certainly weren’t complaining. Jackie hadn’t said it out loud yet, but he could tell that she loved having the kids over. He did, too— especially now that Malcolm was taking the steps to recovery. _

__

_When Jessica had called him, at the end of her rope on what to do when he was still so shut down, Malcolm had given them all a good scare. Gil had felt horrible, that this kid who had gone against his dad to save his life was hurting so deeply. Now, he was getting better. He was talking more, and going to therapy. The first time he and Ainsley had been over it had been for Jessica’s own sake; she’d needed someone to watch the kids on short notice, when the only nanny that would even still work for them was out sick. Jackie had been all too willing to volunteer. Now, they were coming over more frequently, just because. He’d walked in the door tonight and Jackie had flown to him and given him a quick kiss, her cheeks flushed and smeared with flour as she announced: “The kids are here.”_

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_For some reason, that declaration had made him extremely happy._

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_‘The kids are here.’ _

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_Ainsley was on a stool, so she could reach the counter. She was helping make the pie mix, stirring with both hands. Her expression was filled with such careful concentration, that Gil had to stifle a laugh. Jackie was next to her, helping every so often when she almost spilled something. Which was frequently. She’d been humming to herself as she watched Ainsley work. Not faltering in her thoughtful gaze, Ainsley asked: “What song are you humming?” _

__

_Jackie perked. She looked a little surprised, like she wasn’t even aware she had been humming in the first place. But she was quick to smile again. “It’s ‘What a Wonderful World!’” Gil nodded, finally narrowing down what it had been. When there was no recognition on the little girl’s face, she asked: “Have you never heard that song, before?” She shook her head. Jackie gave a dramatic gasp, which made her giggle. Malcolm was resting on his crossed arms, leaning against the counter. He was being quiet, like usual. But he’d been wearing a tiny smile, that only got bigger with Jackie’s response, and his little sister’s laugh. _

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_Ainsley stayed staring up at Jackie, her eyes bright and expectant. Jackie softened, shooting her a mischievous little glance as she turned back to the bowl. She took the spoon from her and started stirring harder. Her eyes flickered to her one more time before, her lips quirking up into that smile Gil loved, she started singing, slowly and softly. “I see trees of green…red roses, too…” Ainsley beamed, immediately putting her chin on her hands and listening. It made Jackie smile more. She poked the tip of the little girl’s nose gently. “I see them bloom, for me and you…and I think to myself…what a wonderful world.”_

__

_Jackie had the most beautiful voice. He always told her that she needed to sing more. She would always just roll her eyes and scoff, but he was serious. He _loved_ her voice. He could tell that Ainsley did, too. Even Malcolm was leaning a little closer. Jackie noticed, and her smile quirked with mischief again. She handed the spoon back to Ainsley and walked towards her brother. Malcolm was straightening fast. Jackie shot him a teasing look as she reached out for his hands. Gil started to stiffen just a little. But to his surprise, Malcolm didn’t resist. He didn’t even fight her when she started to slowly turn in circles with him. _

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_Ainsley started laughing when Jackie began to dance him around the kitchen. “I see skies of blue…and clouds of white!” Malcolm looked horribly embarrassed, but he was fighting a huge smile at the same time. He stumbled at first, but he got the hang of it quick. His smile inched wider when she twirled him around. “The bright, blessed day, and the dark sacred night.” Gil watched the entire thing, feeling warmth grow in his chest. He looked at the two kids, grinning and giggling. At how big Malcolm was smiling and how it was probably the biggest smile he’d seen that kid wear, yet. At how happy his wife looked, and how little giggles were hiding in each word she sang. “And I think to myself…what a wonderful world…!”_

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_He remembered that night the best out of all of them, probably mostly because that night was the night he first realized how much he cared about these two kids. About how, even though the situation wasn’t ordinary, that they were the children of a man who had planned on killing him, when he looked at them there was nothing but soft affection in his heart. All he wanted was for them to be happy. All he wanted was to stay in this kitchen for forever, smelling all the ingredients to his wife’s favorite recipe, hearing her sing, watching her dance around the kitchen with Malcolm, hearing their happy giggles… _

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_That was the first moment he actually realized he loved them._

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Gil propped his head up on his hand. He was exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep. He just sat there, his elbow resting on Malcolm’s bed as he watched over him. He’d taken Jessica’s chair. The moment she returned, he would give it back. She wouldn’t be long— she’d only left to take a fast shower. That was the only reason she _ever_ left her son. It never took her more than eight minutes. Eight minutes was all she could stand to be away from him. Or…_risk _being away from him. Otherwise, she didn’t move. She even _slept_ in that chair; she hadn’t laid down for one and a half weeks. Whenever they did manage to get her eat, she took however many minimal bites she did still right at her son’s side.

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Right now, he was the only one in the room. Dani had been driving between here and work, helping JT. Ainsley had been forced to do that as well. She had more leeway with her job; the network understood, thankfully. She was getting in about three workdays a week. The rest, she would spend here after driving all the way back. She was on her way, now— thirty minutes out. She’d texted ten times today, asking if he was alright or if there were any updates. It was a relief to text her back and say that nothing had gone wrong.

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But it was horrible, too: to know that it _also _meant no progress had been made.

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Malcolm was still on a ventilator. He hadn’t so much as twitched an eye, yet. They’d inserted a PEG tube…feeding him through a hole in his stomach. The stitches that had been crisscrossing through the skin on his face had been removed. It revealed the scars that would stay behind. They were all noticeable now, but over time he hoped they would fade more. There was one splitting a tiny part of his forehead. A larger one underneath his chin. One going down his cheek. The longer Gil looked, the more there seemed to be. 

__

His vision blurred just a little. He was so used to the sting in his eyes, that he hardly even felt it anymore. He took in a slow breath, rousing himself and looking down. He reached out to grab Malcolm’s hand and hold it gently in between both of his. Jessica always held his hand, when she sat here. Gil did it without thinking. It felt so bony and fragile. It tore at his heart, grabbing what was already wounded and ruining it even more. He swallowed hard, as he remembered how embarrassed but happy Malcolm had looked, that night in his kitchen. How he’d laughed and giggled, stumbling along with Jackie just trying to keep up. Even after Jackie let go, he still smiled. He’d smiled the rest of the night. Practically glowing.

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Now, Malcolm was stick thin, just skin covering bone. He was covered in injuries, hooked up to IVs and a feeding tube and a ventilator. He was hurt…he was so sick, he was so _small. _He just wanted to make everything better. He wanted to hug him, he wanted to tell him it was okay, he wanted to say he was sorry— that he was so sorry he didn’t find him before all of this, that he was sorry he was the reason he had suffered so much for so long. He wanted to see him smile again. He wanted to hear him say something— _anything. God, _did he want to hear his voice again. His _actual _voice, not recorded, not through a phone.

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Without conscious thought, he began to speak. “I was…thinking about one of the times you and…you and your sister came over to bake with Jackie…I wonder if you remember that. You certainly _did _it enough.” His voice was thick and hoarse, through his throat. He tried to smile, but he could feel how weak it was. His vision blurred more, when Malcolm didn’t react. He _knew _he wouldn’t, by now. He wasn’t expecting him to. Which, in a way, made it even worse. “You know how much…_money _I spent?” he demanded, trying to laugh. “How many…times I went to the grocery store, because Jackie told me you two were coming over again, and we needed more ingredients for…this, and that? They knew me by _name, _there…

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“…But it was always worth it,” he murmured, giving his hand a squeeze. Just the tiniest squeeze. Any more pressure than that, and he was terrified of harming him even more than he already was. He searched Malcolm’s face, sniffing and reaching out to brush his bangs back, from his eyes. “To see you kids having fun…I always…” His face fell. His lower lip trembled a little as he croaked: “I always felt like I owed it to you.” His voice was chipping, and beginning to break. He knew he should stop but he couldn’t.

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He sniffed again, louder this time. He shook his head, when he forced himself to look back up at him. “I always felt like I owed it to you to try and make you happy because you did so much for me,” he choked out. “You did so much for me…so I always tried to make you happy…to keep you safe…” He cringed even deeper. He let go of his hand purely so he could hold his head and hide his face. His inhales were getting sharper, and his exhales heavier. His shoulders began shaking. He couldn’t say anything else. His foundations had crumbled too much. He tried but he failed, and just started crying weakly under his breath, instead. His sobs quiet but seeming to fill the room.

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“You did.” His quiet choking died off. He whirled around to see Jessica standing behind him. She was in different clothes, her hair still dripping a little. He had no idea how long she had been standing there. But her face was just as wet as his was with tears, and her voice was just as gravelly. He was disarmed, at the sight of her. Despite the fact that they were usually always in this room together, they had hardly spoken. Whatever it was, it was mumbled or curt or soft. They could hardly hold the others’ gaze, both too sick to, for their own different reasons.

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He knew she hated him right now, and he knew she had the right to.

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So he was speechless, as he just stared blankly at her.

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Her eyes flickered to Malcolm. She took in a shaking breath and shook her head. “You _did _make him happy,” she whispered. Gil’s stomach dropped. It dropped even more when she met his gaze again, and he saw her bottomless sorrow. There were other emotions there too, but he couldn’t focus on them. All he could see was how exhausted and empty she was. Still, after a tiny hesitation, she added softly: “You…you _and _Jackie. Made him happy.”

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Gil was silent. There was plenty he wanted to say, but nothing would come out.

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She was already turning away, though, to delve into her bag she kept in the corner of the room. Maybe to look for something, maybe just to have an excuse to turn her back to him. Gil blinked a couple times, before he turned back to Malcolm, his chest aching when he laid eyes on him again. As he looked at the injuries, at the comatose sleeping expression that he had been staring at for a week and a half straight.

__

And remembered the little boy that had danced in his kitchen and had helped bake.

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(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

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The ICU was usually quiet— eerily so. The atmosphere was tense and choking, and it couldn’t really be faulted for that. Not with _this_ class of patients. Families were too strained to try and make pointless conversation. Most if not all the patients were out cold, so there was hardly any talking on their end, either. Silence was a staple, on this floor. But now, their room was filled with something else. A noise other than just the beeping of monitors.

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The soft, twittering melody of a parakeet.

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Ainsley sat up by her brother’s head. She was holding out her phone to him, despite the fact his eyes were closed, like they had been for ages now. Even so, she still held it like he might be able to see. She’d taken about fifty videos of Sunshine for him— this was just one of the very many. Malcolm’s little bird was in the center of the screen, looking ecstatic at the mere inkling of attention, just like she always was. She was bouncing her head up and down, turning it this way and that as she chirped and cooed.

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Ainsley giggled on the recording. “Sunshine— hey, Sunshine!” she sang. Of course, it just made Sunshine happier to hear her name. She was running back and forth along her perch, flapping her wings and singing higher. Ainsley laughed, getting a little closer. “I’ve been trying to teach her how to say ‘Malcolm,’” she explained on camera. Ainsley giggled a little and glanced at her brother. Her smile wilted in pain when he didn’t rouse. She quickly looked back at the phone again.

__

“C’mere, Sunshine! Say hi to Malcolm!” Sunshine rushed over again, letting out an even louder chirp. Ainsley giggled at her comical waddle. “Say ‘Malcolm!’” She made a frustrated noise when Sunshine just kept chirping senselessly. “Malcolm, I _swear_— she said your name like _twice_ this morning,” Ainsley muttered as she filmed. “She’s just refusing to say it on camera because she wants you to hear it yourself— isn’t that right, Sunshine?” Sunshine hopped, and Ainsley laughed at the apparent answer.

__

Her eyes softened sorrowfully as she glanced between her bother and the phone. The seconds dragged by and her chest started to cave it on itself. Her throat was beginning to hurt. But she shook her head, trying to dislodge any depressing thoughts before they could take root. Instead, she took in a deeper breath, making a face as she settled back more beside him. She rested her head on the pillow she had shoved between him and the siderail; this way, she could rest hers lightly against his, making sure there wasn’t any injury there before she did so.

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“Would you _look_ at that camera angle?” she demanded, as if he would answer her. She left a gap for him to respond, just in case, knowing it was pointless. As expected, there was nothing She scoffed, as if he’d said something snarky, which she knew he probably would. “You’d think I’d be better at filming, considering I’m a reporter…look at how shaky it is.” She blew out her cheeks. The video ended and she sighed, turning her phone off. She stared straight ahead for a couple of seconds before she twisted to look at him again. That pain was back in her throat. Like something sharp she couldn’t manage to swallow.

__

“Hey, Mal…you know it’s been like…two weeks, right?” she whispered, trying her best to sound teasing. She tried her best to sound the way she always used to, with him. How she would sound when they walked together, when he would throw her a look full of mock disapproval and she would try her best not to giggle but ultimately fail. It had always been second nature with them, and yet now it was near impossible. Her voice grew lighter but it grew more fragile, too, at the same time.

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She raised her eyebrows a little, glancing between him and the TV, which she had turned off so he might hear Sunshine instead. “You know— I’m _this _close to changing it to the country channel,” she warned softly, grinning just a little bit more genuinely. Malcolm, of course, didn’t react, but her smirk was growing as if he had. “I’ll really do it— they have an _entire channel _just _dedicated _to country music…if you don’t say something, I’ll just _assume _you wanna listen to 24 hours of _continuing_ country music.” She could picture him rolling his eyes— she could see how the edges of his lips would tug up into an exasperated smirk.

__

She’d give anything to actually see it in front of her.

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Malcolm stayed still. His head was turned towards her in his sleep but that was it.

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She softened, but sadly. She sighed and shifted so she could rest her head ever so gently against his again. She thought of all the times she used to run into his bed when she was little and scared of a thunderstorm, or some scary movie he had warned her not to watch on TV but she had anyway. She remembered how he would always let her in, however begrudgingly, shifting over to make room for her. She would hug him and he would stay still for a second, like he was making sure she knew he wasn’t a fan…but then he would always hug her back, and just tell her to go to sleep. He would always give her comfort when she needed it. Usually, he never even asked why.

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She reached out and put her hand lightly on top of his right one, giving it a little squeeze.

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She didn’t say anything else. She knew it wouldn’t do anything. It wouldn’t wake him up.

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She just held his hand…and waited.

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Trying to give him the comfort she knew he desperately needed.

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(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

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The video started mid-crouch. Malcolm was staring ahead miserably. He was chained to the ground by both ankles, but he likely wouldn’t have tried to get up in the first place. Even laying on his side like he was, he seemed dizzy and unfocused. If he tried to stand, he would surely fall. He looked pale, and sick, and much thinner than he was supposed to be. The timestamp read August seventh. He’d been missing for almost three months. His lip was split open and his face was dark with bruises. He was holding his wrist, like it was hurting him. One eye was closed— there was a nasty slice through his eyelid. The right side of his hair was near black with old blood.

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The camera steadied, when Winston settled beside him. The second Malcolm registered that he was holding the camera, his eyes were darting away. He said and did nothing. But his eyes, dulled before, were beginning to break with something akin to pain. “What was that?” Winston asked encouragingly. Malcolm’s eyebrows knitted closer; he refused to open his mouth. “I didn’t get it on camera— you have to repeat it.” He curled up a little tighter. He shifted his head as if he was trying to turn it in more to the ground. Winston’s voice was getting sharper with impatience. _“Repeat what you said._ What did you ask for?”

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It was silent for a while, as Malcolm tried to find it in himself to speak. His voice was barely anything— his throat was so hoarse and dry, that it took a second for air to become syllables in the first place. “Please…let me have something to eat…” he whispered brokenly. With the plea and the pathetic desperation that came with it, he was breaking a little more. He curled up even tighter, despite the fact he flinched a little from the simple motion.

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“I _told_ you what you’re going to have to do if you want food, Malcolm,” he replied. Immediately Malcolm was cringing, ducking his head more. Winston just moved the camera so he could still see his face. So he could still see the look of disappointment, of distress, of disgust, battling with the sheer desperation that was still there. “Do you want food?” Winston asked, very simply, as if he was asking him whether or not the sky was blue. Malcolm’s tears were building faster. _“Huh?”_ he prompted. “I need an answer.”

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_“Please.”_ There was no dignity left to scavenge. Earlier videos, Malcolm had tried to preserve his dignity and hold his head high, but now it was gone. Already, only a little over two months in. Though he kept his eyes closed, and though shame was alive in every crevice of the painful croaking that was his voice now, he begged. “_Please_, I haven’t…I haven’t had anything to eat…in a month. _Please_. Just— I’ll take _anything_, the smallest thing, I’m just _hungry_…” His voice broke on the last word. He had to shut his mouth tightly, to prevent it from coming out in a sob. “_Please_…just let me eat…”

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“And I _asked_ if you’re willing to do what it takes to get food,” Winston elaborated slowly. Like he was dumb.

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His expression broke with even more desperation— a different kind. He opened his eyes just for a second. They were filled with even more water. They caught on the camera. His lower lip trembled. He was even quieter when he started to whisper shakily, “Please…I’ll do _anything_ else…” He was barely audible. There was just silence, and his lips shook even more. So did his words when he started to speak faster. “Please, I’ll do anything else _please_, I—”

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Winston started drawing away. “You don’t want it enough, then,” he dismissed. Malcolm’s eyes went wide. Horror smacked his face, as he watched him pull away. “Oh well. Maybe in three more days, you’ll—”

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_“Okay!”_ he cried. Winston stopped. He was standing, but he kept the camera pointed at Malcolm. At the terrified, broken person on the ground in front of him. The second Malcolm agreed, his tears started to fall. There weren’t a lot to give. But he had plenty of sobs, shaking his thin shoulders and hitching his breath. For a couple moments there was silence; it was just the two of them staring at each other, Malcolm’s crying echoing off the walls of the basement. Malcolm cringed, looking like he was going to be sick. But he repeated himself. “Okay…” he cried. “…I’ll do it…”

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There was nothing but satisfaction in Winston’s voice when he returned a casual: “Okay. Then start.”

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Malcolm stared up at him dismally. He cringed one more time, before he grimaced in preparation for the pain he knew was going to come. Only then could he push himself up with his good hand, unable, apparently, to use the other. He pushed himself up, stopping short and kneeling low as his head spun. He was too dizzy. He stayed there, swaying back and forth so severely he nearly toppled right over. He looked near the point of throwing up. The nausea only got worse when Winston took a step closer, and lowered the camera a little more.

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“Make it good. Or you get nothing,” Winston warned.

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Malcolm just hung his head.

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The next instruction came immediately. “Keep your eyes on the camera. The whole time. You’re not allowed to look away.”

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Malcolm hesitated. But then complied. He picked his head up and stared at the camera. He looked broken. All his pain, all his suffering was there to see as tears rolled down his face. He looked miserable, disgusted, furious…apologetic. He looked at the camera like he knew exactly who was watching, and he was already hating himself for the fact they would see this. He knelt there in silence, agonizing over nothing, because it was already set in stone. Because he already knew he didn’t have a choice. He was doing this so he could keep fighting, and the desperate hope was there to see…but it was buried so far underneath this frustration, revulsion, self-loathing. It was buried too far to properly cling to.

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He stared for what seemed like forever. The hope slowly getting harder and harder to see.

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Until Winston snapped: “Do you want food, or no?”

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Until Malcolm cringed one last time before he took in a deep breath.

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Keeping his deadened, hollow eyes on the camera, he reached out slowly.

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There was the sound of a zipper being undone.

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(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

__

Jessica was nodding off, when there was a knock on the door. It was barely anything, and yet the minimal sound was the first new one in ages so she was immediately looking up. Two staff members were already filing inside. The woman looked at the clock and understood, once she saw what time it was. The tech in the lead explained regardless, though. They whispered, as if there was a risk of waking Malcolm up, when she knew just as well as they did it wasn’t even near the realm of possibility. “Hi…we’re just here to turn him real quick…”

__

She knew already. Every two hours, people came in to shift him. To gingerly lift one side just enough to place a pillow underneath and redistribute pressure, so he didn’t get any more sores from lying still in one position. He already had so many, from his time away. So many horrible, awful sores from being unable to move even the tiniest bit off the floor he’d been found on. She had watched the nurses change the dressings covering the ulcers, and they had looked so painful and horrible it had taken everything in her not to flinch away and avert her eyes. The thought of him having to deal with even more of those was horrible.

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She let go of his hand and scooted to the side to allow them room. Her eyes never left him, and the anxiety never left her chest. She murmured like she always did, a tearful: “Be gentle…please…” One of them gave her a sympathetic smile that she didn’t pay attention to. She just watched apprehensively as one of them leaned over Malcolm and grabbed him gently, pulling him up just a fraction. The other slid a pillow underneath him, quickly, so he could be lowered back down. They did it so fluidly that Malcolm’s head was only shifted just a little bit, throughout it all. They set him back down and it was like nothing had happened.

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Jessica murmured a thank-you, and scooted back the second she was able. She grabbed Malcolm’s hand again, running her fingers along his knuckles as if to reassure him that it was okay, and he wasn’t going to be moved again. She started to settle back beside him. She was so exhausted, her eyes started to slide shut again. When another tiny noise caught her attention. Just like before, she looked towards the door, trying to remember what else could happen around now. It was four in the afternoon…he wasn’t due for another dose of pain medication for another thirty minutes— she’d memorized that schedule, too. She looked at the entryway; there was nobody there. But she heard the sound again.

__

A little cough.

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She whirled back to her son, her eyes stretching huge. Malcolm coughed again, very weakly and softly. Her breath was stolen— it took a couple seconds for her to be able to remember how to speak. “Malcolm?” His head moved just the tiniest bit, and he coughed again, in that same way, like it was more of a sharp sigh than anything else. She gasped. Her voice grew louder. “Malcolm? Are you— Malcolm, can you hear me? Sweetheart?” His eyes twitched. She reached out to hold his face. “Malcolm. Malcolm—_ can you look at me? Can you open your eyes?” _Her voice was getting weaker— shakier. Thicker, with desperate tears that had suddenly sprung into her eyes.

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His eyes twitched again. A sob wrenched itself out of her chest and not a second after, she saw his right eye open just the tiniest bit. It was barely anything— it was just a small flicker. But she saw the flash of blue, however murky and disoriented. She cried out again, and his eye dragged over in her direction. She didn’t know if he could see her, or if he understood what was happening. But she was immediately beaming tearfully. “Malcolm— _darling, _oh my God— you’re okay, sweetheart— okay? You’re in the hospital…” His eye opened a little more. His stare was disoriented. It had her crying even harder, to see him look so murky.

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She was praying for even the tiniest glimpse of her son, in that empty stare. “Malcolm, can you hear me? It’s all going to be okay, sweetheart…you’re going to be okay, we’re going to make sure you’re okay from now on…” Malcolm blinked slowly. There was no recognition, or intelligence. And soon after his blink, with one more weak cough around the tube in his throat, he was closing his eyes again. Her face fell, once she realized. All her tears of happiness were immediately turning right back to tears of sorrow. “_No_…Malcolm— baby, open your eyes again. _Look at me, _Malcolm, _please.” _

__

He didn’t. He stopped coughing, too.

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He fell right back asleep, like nothing had happened.

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(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

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_“When are we gonna do something?” _

__

_Gil sighed, looking over at him with a mix of exasperation and amusement. Malcolm was sitting in the passenger seat, slouched so far down his chin was on his chest. Impatience was sparking off him like fireworks. He had to stifle a laugh. Which was good, because he was looking over at him immediately, and scowling when he saw the humor hiding on his face. “What?” he whined, which just made Gil smirk more. “We’ve been sitting here for three hours, doing _nothing.”

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_“You’re the one that wanted to come; I told you it was nothing fun,” he returned._

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_“I thought you were just saying that so I wouldn’t want to anymore,” the kid grumbled, scowling out the window. “I didn’t think you were literally gonna do nothing all night.” Gil laughed under his breath. Malcolm looked back at him. “Aren’t you gonna, like…do something…” He was grasping for what to say. “I don’t know! Something cool!” he eventually burst. “In all the movies, stakeouts are much more interesting! You see the guy go in and you follow and then it’s just you in charge of protecting the whole house!”_

__

_“Television and movies hardly get anything right. Hate to burst your bubble, kid, but we’re just watching this house to make sure the boyfriend doesn’t come back. Even if he shows up, all it would take is flipping on these lights to probably make him turn tail and run.” Malcolm deflated. Gil tried to keep the smile out of his voice when he asked: “Did you really think I would take you on a stakeout with actual danger?”_

__

_“Yes,” Malcolm immediately answered._

__

_Gil rivaled with a smirk: “Okay, but do you think your _mom _would like me taking you on a stakeout with actual danger?” This, he couldn’t argue against. He just slouched again. Gil had to bit back on another laugh. He went back to studying the house. For a couple of moments it went silent again. His eyes flickered over to Malcolm when the kid sat back up tall, breathing on the window and fogging it up to trace a smiley face on the window. He watched it fade very intently. Gil cracked a smile. “How’s it going, kid?” he asked after a while. “What’s new with you?”_

__

_Malcolm turned back. He looked confused at the inquiry. But he shrugged a shoulder. “It’s fine. I guess,” he mumbled. Gil’s smile faded. Malcolm tugged the sleeves of his jacket down over his hands. “Ainsley had her first sleepover the other night. She was really excited. She had a lot of fun.” Something about the way he said all this was very hollow._

__

_Gil nodded. He remembered how big a deal sleepovers used to be when he was little. He looked at the expression on Malcolm’s face, and something in his chest tugged. He felt like he already knew the answer, but he asked anyway, on the off chance it might be different. “What about you?” he prompted. Malcolm’s eyes flickered to him, but he looked away quickly, and he said nothing. Gil figured that was an answer plainly enough, but he still tried. “Have you had any sleepovers lately?”_

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_There was a very long stretch of silence. Malcolm tucked his legs up to his chest, hugging them tight and resting his head on his knees. He shrugged one shoulder again. “No…I haven’t,” he mumbled. Gil’s chest constricted, at the sudden sadness that was on his face. “I found a new book series at the library I wanna read…” he offered lamely. The sadness in his eyes was enough to show that the tiny development meant nothing. If anything, it seemed to make him sadder. “So…I’m excited for that..”_

__

_There too much heartache on his face. There was too much sadness, on the face of a kid that age. Gil looked back at the house they were watching, chewing on his bottom lip for a while. Before he straightened a little, and cleared his throat. “You know…” he began. Malcolm looked at him, still disheartened. “You might not be having fun…but I’m actually glad you wanted to come along, tonight,” he announced._

__

_Malcolm perked just a little. His voice was quiet. Genuinely puzzled. “…You are?”_

__

_“Of course,” he said at once. “I’m usually out on these all night by myself. It’s ten times as boring, when you’re alone.” He looked at him, and smiled when he saw that the little boy’s expression was brightening, little by little. _“I’m _glad you came. Gives me some good company.”_

__

_A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He looked away, like he was trying to hide the fact. _

__

_Gil felt his chest warm when he saw that grin start to come back. Then he remembered something. “Oh!” He reached back into his pocket. Malcolm leaned out a little, to try and see. When he pulled out the tiny piece of candy and held it out to him, Malcolm’s smile was coming back full force. It stretched from ear to ear; Gil felt a weight leave his chest, when he heard him laugh a little. _

__

_He reached out and took it, unwrapping it and popping it into his mouth. His smile turned a little more sheepish when he offered a quiet: “Thanks, Gil.” He just smiled and nodded. Malcolm looked back out the windshield, at the house. He stayed smiling for a couple moments. Before it dropped back into that critical frown, and he declared: “Waiting is still boring.”_

__

_Gil scoffed. “Police work is patience, Malcolm,” he reminded, not for the first time._

__

_Malcolm just sighed. “Yeah, but I’m _sick _of being patient.”_

__

“He’s been off the ventilator for the whole day!” Ainsley couldn’t be more excited. Dani and Gil’s eyes were on Malcolm, as they listened. The huge machine was gone. He was fitted with an oxygen mask, now. But the rise and fall of his chest was his own, and to see him breathing by himself nearly made them dizzy, with all the relief it inspired. “The nurses say he’s doing so well. _Oh! _And guess what? When they gave him one of his injections earlier— he flinched. You know, like it hurt? I mean…it wasn’t much, but it was _something. _Something to say he’s coming back around, you know?”

__

Dani smiled, too. “That’s great!” she offered.

__

Gil couldn’t say anything. But he put a smile on his face and nodded, hoping that would pass.

__

Knowing it was horrible but not feeling the tiniest sense of relief.

__

All he felt was a tug of frustration so severe it almost made his eyes sting.

__

All he heard was Malcolm’s voice.

__

_Yeah, but I’m _sick _of being patient. _

__

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

__

He had to turn the volume down, but it was still too loud. The anguished, horrible screaming. Malcolm was screeching at the top of his lungs, in rage, but mostly in pure agony as he struggled to thrash and kick Winston off. He wasn’t strong enough, though— by now, he wasn’t strong enough to do _anything_. He was chained to the ground by his wrists and his ankles, in a four-point restraint. Winston was crouched so his knees were planted on his forearms. He was trying to hold his head still with one hand; the other was holding a pair of blood-soaked pliers. Malcolm screeched and trashed his head from side to side as hard as he could. Winston just pinned him down harder, digging his knees into his arms even more.

__

“Hold _still.”_ He shoved the pliers further into his mouth. Once he thought he had a hold on something, he yanked back hard; though he pulled nothing out, Malcolm screamed again, louder and more panicked. Winston scowled, frustrated. Malcolm was still trying to fight and screech. Without warning, the man raised his arm and brought it down on his head as hard and as fast as he could, slamming the pliers directly on his forehead. This time, the pain stunned him. He couldn’t even scream; he just went blank.

__

Winston took the chance and yanked his mouth open again. He reached in again and this time, when he yanked his arm back, he ripped a tooth right out of his skull. A horrible sound halfway between a choke and a gasp tore out of Malcolm’s throat once the initial shock subsided. Once he got himself to breathe in, he was immediately letting it out in the worst scream yet, bloodcurdling and agonized. It only ended when he started to choke. Hacking, he had to make do with just turning his head to the side, since his body was pinned in place. Blood gushed out of his mouth like a waterfall.

__

“If you stopped _fighting, _it wouldn’t hurt as much,” Winston spat. Malcolm couldn’t say nothing; all he could do was sob and gasp and choke as he fought to get as much blood out of his mouth as he could. When Winston grabbed his chin harshly, he elicited yet another screech. He yanked his head back front and got his mouth open again. Malcolm was begging, but between the pain and all the blood pooling in his throat, it was impossible to understand him. Winston just shoved the bloody pliers back into his mouth, Malcolm convulsing in the pain it caused. “If you just _let me work, _it won’t be as bad!”

__

_Again_, there was a sickening crack as he tore out another one. This time, Malcolm’s scream was weaker, as was his full-body twitch. Winston let the tooth fall beside the other one. Malcolm was immediately turning his head again, gasping and choking but breathing much shallower than before. “Look at all those,” he snickered. “Looks like you’re gonna get a whole lot from the tooth fairy, tonight!

__

“How long did you believe in the tooth fairy, Malcolm?” He turned back to him and grabbed his chin once more. This time, Malcolm didn’t fight. In fact, he opened his mouth numbly, and just waited. His eyes were huge but distant. He was losing touch with what was happening, between all the pain and fear. Winston continued to talk as he sought out another tooth. “When I had to go live with my aunt, she let me know about _everything. _There was no _tooth fairy, _no _quarter under the pillow.” _He yanked on another one. There was a snapping sound, but nothing came out. Malcolm cringed and sobbed brokenly around the pliers. “There was no _Santa— _no _presents on Christmas morning. _No _Easter Bunny, or eggs.” _He yanked again, and again, it wasn’t enough. Malcolm’s scream was quiet and pleading.

__

The third yank, and he finally got it. Malcolm spluttered and wept, shaking from head to toe by now. Winston surveyed the tooth carefully, before he just dropped it by the others. “I didn’t get _anything _other kids got,” he continued conversationally. He looked down at him with clear disdain. “While I bet you got _everything…_I bet you got _fifty dollars a tooth, _growing up in your little mansion with all your _staff. _And you didn’t care at all, either, I bet.” Malcolm flinched, crying harder. “You still thought you were _such a little sob story, _you thought the entire _world _was against you. When in reality, you were just a spoiled little _brat.”_

__

He grabbed his mouth again. Malcolm’s arms pulled desperately. Winston just clicked his tongue. “C’mon, Malcolm— we have to have an even number!” He grabbed the last one. This time, instead of pulling, he began to slowly twist. Malcolm screeched, howling and sobbing and begging incoherently. Winston ignored it all. He twisted and twisted and wiggled, until finally, after torturous ages, it finally came loose. He ripped out the last tooth and pushed off of Malcolm at the same time. Malcolm immediately curled up on his side, spitting out mouthful after mouthful of blood. It was hard for him to scream with so much rushing to fill his mouth, but he tried. If only to get the agony somewhere that wasn’t directly on his lungs.

__

Winston watched him coldly as he struggled. “You think you’re _strong, _for not _appreciating _what you _had? _What I could only _dream _of having?” he growled. Malcolm’s trembling was only getting worse. His entire body was wracked with shivers as he wheezed unevenly. “You got to _watch your sister grow up, _that’s something I would have killed for, just right there! But I bet you didn’t even think about it for one _second.” _

__

He stooped down, to snarl into his ear. “Are you thinking about it now?” he hissed. Malcolm just cringed, sobbing hard and causing more blood to stain his chin. “Has it occurred to you that you’re not watching her grow up anymore? Have you thought about what it might be like to never see her again? Never see her go down the aisle? Never see her have kids— never have a niece or nephew?” Malcolm’s expression broke; he started crying harder and longer. Winston’s face filled with grim satisfaction.

__

He turned, grabbing Malcolm’s teeth in one hand. He grabbed his shirt and yanked him closer. Malcolm choked, but his sob was cut short when Winston shoved the teeth back into his mouth. Immediately, instinct had Malcolm trying to spit them out, but Winston kept his hand clamped tight over his mouth, making it impossible. “You _love_ to complain about how _hungry_ you are,” he reminded, planting his hand down on him even more. Malcolm tried to reach up and pry it off but with his restraints he couldn’t reach. Winston scowled, leaning down to look him in the eye as he snapped: _“Swallow them.”_

__

Malcolm shook his head desperately. Begging him. Fighting for air. But Winston just waited.

__

Eventually, Malcolm cringed and forced himself to swallow the teeth back. He choked and coughed, but after a couple tries he managed it. Only once he did, did Winston take his hand back. Malcolm gasped when he finally let go, spitting out more blood and taking in harsh, gulping breaths. Winston’s smile only grew when Malcolm started crying. Brokenly and softly, he curled up as much as he could and cried as blood kept dripping down from his mouth and staining the floor. Winston faked a sympathetic coo, reaching out and ruffling his hair.

__

“Don’t _cry_, Malcolm,” he soothed, watching him only cry harder. JT was fuming He wanted to storm out of here and find him. He wanted to punch the lights out of him, as fast and as hard as he could. He wanted to beat him half to death— he wanted to make him feel a _fraction_ of the pain he’d made Malcolm feel, day in and day out. It was all he could do to just sit there and watch, gritting his teeth so hard it hurt his head as the man patted Malcolm on the cheek, purely to get him to scream again, and stifle a snicker as he said: “You don’t need your wisdom teeth anyway!”

__

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

__

JT came with them, this time. He didn’t make a big deal out of it. During lunch, he had just looked at Dani and asked a simple: “You goin’ to see him today?” She’d said yes, of course she was. He’d just nodded. She’d forgotten the question entirely, as they took to eating their lunch in silence. She’d started to get up and throw everything away, when, without looking up from his food, he’d said: “Wait for me. I’ll go, too.” She’d turned, confused. She’d started to ask why – not trying to be rude, just genuinely surprised – but he was already standing and leaving before she had the chance to.

__

So JT ended up coming with them this time, and so did Edrisa. For weeks, she and Gil had been making the commute to the hospital to sit with Malcolm whenever they could. They hadn’t even spared a thought for anyone else. But JT had made her realize she had barely spoken to Edrisa since this entire thing had started. Sure enough, when she went to her afterward and asked if she’d like to accompany her to the hospital too, she barely had enough time to ask the question before Edrisa was stumbling over herself with a rush of ‘yes’s and ‘thank you’s. The second their workday was over, Edrisa practically materialized beside the car, waiting very impatiently at the passenger side door.

__

They met up with Gil and JT in the hospital parking lot and they led the way up to his room. Ainsley had already made the commute; she was sitting in her new usual spot, on the small slice of the bed that wasn’t already taken up by him. Jessica was holding his hand, running her fingers up and down his arm like soothingly. They were talking softly, but when the three came in, they were immediately looking their way. Whatever conversation they were having, it must not have been important at all.

__

Ainsley smiled; when she saw the others, she perked with surprise. “Oh, wow.” She turned, grinning a little when she rubbed her brother’s shoulder lightly. “Look at _you,_ Malcolm! When did you get so popular? I’m jealous,” she chirped. Gil’s smile saddened at her effort, but she didn’t seem disheartened at all. She just smiled at all of them, letting her hand linger on his shoulder. “Hey, Gil…how’ve you been?”

__

He forced a smile again. “Fine…it’s been fine,” he exhaled, giving into her efforts to start a conversation. He didn’t have the heart to not play along. So he let her rope into talking; he went over to stand beside the bed, leaning on one of the raised siderails and trying not to make it so obvious he was only half paying attention to what she was saying.

__

This was the first time JT and Edrisa had actually seen him. JT had seen him briefly in the warehouse, but it had been dark and everything had been going so fast he hadn’t been able to get a good look at him. Of course, they’d both gotten reports on him constantly from Dani or Gil, but seeing it firsthand was a different story altogether. No amount of description could prepare them for the fact he weighed 84 pounds (which was, unfortunately, an improvement from when he was first found). The fact that he was covered in stitches and gauze. That he was wearing an oxygen mask and wasn’t responding to anything at all, despite the fact Gil and Ainsley were talking at a normal volume right by his ear.

__

There was a lot to take in. So none of those who had already done so – as well as they could, anyway – pressured them. They just talked around them, pretending not to notice the hollow way the pair were staring at him. JT felt an awful twist in the pit of his stomach. He found himself trying to recall the videos he had watched, trying to line up the injuries he could see with the footage that had been captured.

__

That scar on his forehead…was it from him falling and hitting his head on the steps, or was it from the time Winston took his belt from him and whipped him with it? His cheek…was that from when Winston pressed his head down against the floor and yanked him back across it, or was it from the time he held him down and skinned it carefully with a pocketknife? His eyes caught on his mom. She was holding his right hand in one of hers; she’d turned his arm so that it was supine. Her expression was heavy— JT followed her gaze and felt a pit open up in the bottom of his stomach when he saw that she was tracing a particularly harsh scar. A long, thin one, arching right across his wrist.

__

He was shocked to realize the types of scars that were there. The one across his wrist was bigger, but there were other, thinner scars around it. Slashes that resembled rungs of a ladder. JT was caught off-guard by those scars…he must not have seen the video from whenever he got those. Instinctually, at first glance there was only one explanation for those kinds of injuries. He could recognize the heaviness on Jessica’s face— that she was thinking the same thing he was. But she was saying nothing, not looking up but listening to her daughter and Gil talk about unimportant things, as she let her fingers ghost over the thin white lines. The sorrow on her face was unimaginable. It was catching JT’s attention and rooting it there, as he thought about all the horrible things in those tapes. Knowing she was oblivious to everything he knew.

__

His thoughts were broken when there was a knock at the door. The tech smiled when they looked at her, but he still walked in. “Sorry,” he offered, not sounding all that sorry. “But I’ve gotta take some vitals real quick, here.” Jessica roused and let go of Malcolm’s hand. The tech fetched his blood pressure cuff, and took great care in slowly picking up Malcolm’s arm and wrapping it into place. He hooked it up to the monitor and pressed the button that got it to slowly start tightening. From there, he went to the computer and started logging in the numbers.

__

Ainsley and Gil were still keeping up the pointless chatter, just to have something else going on in the background. He was pretty sure by now they were talking about the weather, which was when you _really_ knew a conversation should be put out of its misery. JT was just about to step out – he felt like he needed some air, all of a sudden – when there was a noise. He thought it was Jessica at first; it came from her general direction. But when he saw the shock on her face, and the way she was looking down, he immediately realized it wasn’t the case. She was staring at her son with huge, startled eyes. Ainsley had stopped talking the second she heard it, too. She was whirling around to look at her brother, astonished and shocked. Not wanting to believe it just in case it wasn’t true.

__

But it was.

__

The noise had come from him— it was a faint, plaintive whine. By now, the cuff had inflated to its tightest capacity; it was squeezing his arm uncomfortably tight. His eyes were still closed but his forehead was creasing, and his head was beginning to move on the pillow, shaking back and forth. He tried moving his arm; the tension from the cuff was minimal but given how weak he was, it was enough to keep him from moving the way he wanted to. That, coupled with the fact it was still squeezing him, seemed to be causing him distress. They weren’t sure at first, but the realization dawned fully when he tried to twitch his arm and, when the cuff just stayed applying its pressure, he let out another strangled little yelp.

__

His voice was scratchy and barely there, not only because of the weeks of nonuse, but because of the tube that had been shoved down his throat up until just a few days ago. It made him sound even more pathetic, but once he got out the first yelp, he could get out more, as if all the others just needed a demonstration first. His breathing started picking up. He started to grimace. He tried tugging his arm again, and again, cried out when he couldn’t manage it. He was quickly moving into hyperventilation.

__

Jessica shot up to her feet, immediately leaning down so that she could hold his face in her hands. This didn’t seem to be the right move. The second she touched him, he yelped again, even higher and even more scared. Still, she kept ahold of him and tried to get him to calm down. “Malcolm— Malcom, darling— open your eyes.” He didn’t. He just breathed faster, terrified, pain-filled sobs beginning to border his gasps.

__

His heartbeat was getting faster, rocketing up into a panic the more he woke up. Ainsley’s eyes were wide with horrified sorrow as she watched him try to move. She could tell he was doing everything he could. He was trying to twist, to thrash, all too blind and all far too weak to make an actual difference. The more he moved, the more his injuries would hurt the more pain he would be in. That was probably what was helping him panic— all the pain he was feeling more and more with every passing second.

__

_“Malcolm,” _Jessica hushed, her lower lip trembling as Malcolm stared crying, feebly raising his right arm and trying to shove at her. “Malcolm, _open your eyes, look at me, sweetheart. Malcolm, look at me.” _The tech doubled out of the room to fetch the nurse. Gil rounded the bed so he could stand beside Jessica, wracking his brain on what he should do to help. “Malcolm— you’re in the hospital,” Jessica explained, bending even lower, stroking his cheeks despite the fact he kept trying to yank his head away. Gil recognized the movement from what he’d been trying to do when he’d held him the same way, back in the warehouse. It shattered his heart, to have to see it again. “Malcolm, you’re in the hospital, you’re safe, I need you to open your eyes! I need you to look at me!”

__

Malcolm put whatever energy he had into the attempt to get her off. One accidentally-well-timed swing of his arm got her hands off of his face. She stumbled back, and he immediately started scrabbling at the bed, like he was trying to move. But that was too tall an order for him, right now; he couldn’t manage to even scoot himself a fraction. He screamed out, when he tried, pain overwhelming him just from the tiny attempt. He tried to twist, but froze, flinching and letting out a thin, screeching wail when pain wrapped around his left side, from the broken ribs that were there. He went still, paralyzed briefly from the pain.

__

Gil tried to step in, when he saw this chance. “Hey— _hey_, kid…” His voice was so gentle. JT didn’t think he’d ever heard him sound like this. His voice was soft and soothing as he bent low, just like Jessica had. Malcolm was hyperventilating through the pain that had stabbed into him. His entire body was shaking; it was just making all the agony even worse. “Kid, I need you to look at me— look here…look right here…” Malcolm pried his eyes open. He was immediately flinching away from the glare of the lights, even though they were dimmed. He had to blink rapidly and blink quite a few times, and when he got his eyes open it was just in a tiny crack. But they were open, all the same. It took him a couple seconds to look at Gil. His eyes were wild and crazy with pure terror. He looked like trapped prey.

__

Gil felt like someone punched him in the stomach. He looked just as blank and terrified as he had on the floor of that factory. Just like back then, there was no recognition when their eyes met. At least now he was actually _looking _at him, which was something he hadn’t been able to do back then. But still, it wasn’t much better. Dread was turning the older man’s blood to ice, but he put on a smile for him anyway, biting back on his tears. “_Hey_…” His soft coo was filled with so much love. Malcolm continued to breathe fast— continued to be blank. _“There…_there you go, you’re okay…” he breathed, starting to put his hand on his shoulder. Malcolm stared at him like they weren’t speaking the same language. “We— we got you to the hospital, kid…you were _really _hurt, but we managed to—”

__

He broke off. The very _second _his hand settled on Malcolm’s shoulder, Malcolm was screaming. It was sudden; it came out of absolutely nowhere. One second he was frozen, just shaking in terrified silence, and the next moment he was screeching at the top of his lungs. His voice cracked and splintered – it sounded painful just to _hear it _– yet he didn’t stop. It was a scream straight out of a horror movie. As if Gil’s hand was a million degrees, Malcolm was screeching like it burned him right down to the bone.

__

Gil’s eyes went huge, and his stomach plummeted. Edrisa stumbled backward, the blood rushing out of her face. Malcolm kept screaming— like he couldn’t stop, like he didn’t even need to breathe to keep going. Gil tried to get him to look at him again. His voice wavered and splintered, but he still tried to croak to him. _“Malcolm— hey, kid— you’re okay, kid, look at me!” _he begged, trying to sob himself as Malcolm immediately started screaming and crying even louder, when Gil’s hands touched him again. He was trying to be careful, as he grabbed his shoulders, trying to get him to look at him but trying to get him to stop twisting, too. He was going to hurt himself even more, moving this way.

__

But when Malcolm felt that pressure on his shoulders, however slight – when he felt himself being pinned down, even if Gil was being as gentle as possible – he just grew even more panicked. He was screeching so loud that Gil’s choked voice could hardly be heard, underneath it. “Malcolm, you’re in the _hospital, look at me kid, you’re safe now we’re keeping you safe, you’re safe! You’re with us!” _

__

He reached up and started to claw desperately at his wrist, shoving and pulling and doing everything he could to get him off. It broke Gil’s heart, to see how much he was trying and know that his strength amounted to so little. He wasn’t even budging him. The more he tried and failed the harder he thrashed. Gil cringed, but applied more pressure. “Malcolm— Malcolm you _can’t move, _you’re _hurting yourself!” _

__

Malcolm wasn’t listening. He was so desperate, he tried to use his left arm to shove him away. The tiniest pressure against his broken bone had him screaming, but he wasn’t making the connection; he still tried to fight. His screaming was desperate, and absolutely pathetic. His voice was in pieces. It didn’t sound like his— it didn’t even really sound _human_. Not only because of how thin and raspy it was, but because it was filled with so much primal fear. If he was trying to scream actual words, it was impossible to tell— to all of them, it was just a garbled mess of terror and panic. A mesh of things so scared and pleading it was absolutely nothing at all. He was screaming so loud his throat was giving out on him. Gil kept trying to reason with him, but it was getting nowhere. The older man was starting to cry just as much as he was.

__

Jessica finally got over her shock. She rushed forward, trying to push him off. She started yelling too. It was impossible to tell what she was: furious or heartbroken. The tears that clogged her voice could be from either emotion. _“Get off of him, don’t touch him!” _she snarled. He tried to shrug her off, but it just made her yank on him harder. When Malcolm kept screaming, her yell sharpened even more. _“Gil, get off of my son, let him go! Get off!” _

__

“I’m trying to make sure he doesn’t—”

__

_“Let him go you’re scaring him— you’re hurting him, stop it!” _She grabbed him by the shoulders and wrenched him away. This time, she put so much force behind the tug that he was nearly yanked right onto his back, to fall to the floor. The instant the pressure on his shoulders was lifted, Malcolm was trying to force himself to move again. But he was a mess of stitches and surgical incisions and broken bones. Just the minimal effort was blinding him with pain, just stacking on top of everything else. With Gil and Jessica’s voices raising into yells back and forth, with Ainsley still trying to lean over him and talk in his ear, with the light of the hospital that was dim and yet blinding to him after being trapped in that warehouse for so long, and now with all the pain closing tight around his throat, it was all getting to be too much.

__

With everything building up on him more and more, he found himself suddenly trapped underneath. He laid there on his back, his eyes closed tight, his chest moving rapidly and shallowly, and he broke. Like a child would when they couldn’t take anymore, he just laid there and started sobbing and wailing, completely helpless against everything that was overwhelming him. Jessica’s heart shattered to pieces when she heard him break down. She stopped yelling at Gil, forgetting him entirely. She started to run to her son instead. Reaching out for him like she was going to gather him in her arms to cradle him and shush him, like she always did when he was a baby.

__

But that moment was when the nurses finally rushed in. They got in between her and her son before she had the chance to get close. His nurse rushed to him, bending low. “Malcolm? Hey, Malcolm, can you look at me?” She got her penlight out of her pocket, trying to lift one of his eyelids so she could shine the beam into his eye. The second she was touching him, though, just like with Gil, he started yelping as if her very touch hurt. He tried to smack her away. One of the other nurses immediately rushed forward to grab his wrist and plant it down to the mattress. This made him start screaming again.

__

“Malcolm! Malcolm, I’m gonna need you to calm down, it’s okay, listen to me! You’re at Saint Anthony’s, Malcolm, you’re in the hospital!” Nothing was reaching him. He was trying to claw at the nurse’s hand that was pinning him down, screeching and sobbing. He was back to trashing again. The nurse cursed under her breath and looked at the others that were waiting to be told what to do. “Get me five milligrams of Haldol, _now!” _she snapped. One of them immediately rushed away.

__

Jessica shook her head fast, her eyes going wide. “Don’t!” she burst, hardly able to be heard over her son’s never-ending screaming. “Don’t— don’t sedate him! Isn’t there something else you can try!?”

__

The nurse looked from her to him, her eyes darkening when she realized her colleagues were all rushing to hold him down, now. He was writhing and pulling on himself like he was trying to get up. “I’m sorry, ma’am— but he’s too hurt to be doing this. We can’t let him rip open any of his incisions.” Jessica’s face fell. She tried to fight more, but then the other nurse was back, and the medication was being administered. The other staff members held him down more firmly, and even though nobody there thought it would even be possible, his screaming got even louder. His voice was giving away; he was going hoarse, just in this small stretch of five or so minutes he’d been awake.

__

He continued to try and fight, crying and straining, but they all held him down and the nurse quickly flushed the drug through his IV, straight into his vein. It worked its magic fast. His struggling began to subside, and his screaming began stuttering out into gasps and chokes. The nurses all let go, once they knew he wasn’t going to hurt himself anymore. Immediately, Jessica rushed to fill the space. Ainsley leaned over him too— the rest just watched in horrified, silent sadness.

__

Jessica’s lips were shaking so hard it was difficult to get them to work enough to form words. “Malcolm…Malcolm, sweetheart— I’m so sorry…” He kept gasping loudly, but Jessica’s heart froze when she saw his eyes open again, and flicker to her. They were terrified and yet already beginning to dull. She choked back on a sob and reached out to brush his bangs back— they’d fallen in his face, with all his flailing. He whimpered at her touch and his head twitched a little, but that was all he could do. Her lips trembled harder, but she forced them into a smile. “You’re okay, sweetheart— we’re here for you— we’ve got you now…don’t worry…” She kept running her hands through his hair. His fear didn’t lessen.

__

Ainsley reached out to put her hand on his. He whimpered again, but she tried not to notice. Her voice was murky with tears when she got out: “Mal…it’s okay, Mal— it’s all gonna be okay now, we _promise…” _A desperate whine died in the back of his throat; he tried to take his arm away from her, but his body was getting too heavy— he couldn’t budge. Once his fear-filled, groggy mind realized it was futile, he closed his eyes and just reverted to sobbing weakly. His shoulders shook feebly with every gasp. His head fell to the side lifelessly.

__

He continued to cry, but he was quickly falling back asleep. Each sob was quieter and meeker until eventually his sobbing died altogether. All the pain and panic on his face ebbed away, until he looked exactly the way he had less than ten minutes ago: like he was just asleep, completely relaxed. Anyone might have been able to be convinced he hadn’t even woken up at all in the first place, had they not been forced to witness what had just happened. There was no relief when he finally fell asleep— everyone just stared in hollow sorrow and disbelief. The nurse looked at Jessica apologetically. “Ma’am, I’m…very sorry—”

__

Jessica let out a sob at her attempt, just shaking her head. She kept her fingers in her son’s hair but bent down low, to press her forehead to his temple. She cringed, crying softly over him. “He didn’t recognize me…” she whimpered. Ainsley closed her eyes, ducking her head into her hands. Her mother’s voice was heartbreaking in itself, but the more she went on, the the harder it was to listen to. “He _looked_ at me but— he didn’t recognize me, he looked so scared…he looked _terrified_…”

__

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

__

October 25th. 8:14 pm.

__

Malcolm was slumped against the wall. He had been going in and out fitful sleep all day, his head hanging low one moment and dragging up the next. His hair was damp and sticking to his forehead with sweat. His breathing was raspy, and louder than normal. Pain was creased harsh on his face. He was sick. _Very _sick. After ages of closing his eyes and trying to breathe deeply through what must have been another wave of sickness, he finally lurched forward.

__

There was a bucket sitting close beside him. He tugged it over not a second after, he started to vomit. He didn’t have much to give. There was hardly anything in his stomach. He just hurled up stomach bile, gasping and coughing in between his heaves. Even when he was through, he stayed hunched over it like he was worried there might be more. His nose wrinkled— he gagged and spit a couple more times, before he set it aside again. He slouched, gradually lowering himself down to lay on his side with another grimace. He moved his leg, but the scrape of metal reminded him of what he already knew.

__

He breathed out shakily, shivering a little. He reached out for his suit jacket on the ground, torn and ripped. He curled up under it as much as he could, pulling it over him for a makeshift a blanket. It didn’t do much, but it was all he had. He tried to stifle his shivering, settling his head on the hard floor and closing his eyes. No sooner did he do that, and let out a slow sigh, were there footsteps coming down the stairs. His eyes pried open again; his expression was filling with pain and misery, already.

__

“My boss is being a _total asshole.” _Winston was fuming. Malcolm stayed curled up underneath his jacket, but his eyes – feverishly bright – flickered up to him as he paced. “He made me stay to _lock up. _I _opened!” _He shook his head, grumbling to himself before looking back at Malcolm, like he was actually expecting a response. “He spends _all day _making me _take stock, _and then he takes off early and leaves me to do all the _rest _of the work!” He scowled off into space before he gritted his teeth and kicked out hard against the wall. Malcolm flinched— away from that, and the yell he let out at the same time.

__

Winston glared hard at the wall, his hands clenched into fists. Malcolm curled tighter and trained his eyes on the ground, taking care not to move a single muscle. He must have been hoping Winston would stay preoccupied and not notice him but it only took a couple moments before he did. When he did, and he saw the state he was in, Winston perked. He walked over and knelt down. He reached out, and immediately, Malcolm was cowering backward like a frightened animal. Winston stopped, staring at him with slightly raised eyebrows. Malcolm didn’t uncurl but he did fall still, however reluctantly.

__

He put his hand on his forehead. He almost managed to sound concerned when he pulled away and mumbled: “You’re burning up…” Malcolm just ducked his head more, still shivering. “How long have you been like this?” Winston asked, as if he was genuinely worried about him.

__

Malcolm’s gaze was pained and cautious at the same time. He sniffed when he looked away again, tucking even tighter. His voice was like sandpaper, he had thrown up so much. “…since yesterday,” he breathed out shakily. He tugged his jacket up to cover his face more. “After you left…” He hesitated, before he went on, still not quite looking at him. “I can’t…stop getting sick…”

__

“Hmm. That’s a shame, isn’t it?” he asked condescendingly. Malcolm deflated, disappointment and misery slapping across his face. Winston got up, going over towards the duffle bag he’d tossed onto the ground on his way in. “Don’t think because you’re sick it gets you out of tonight…you’re gonna be my own personal punching bag.” Malcolm started to try and sit up but it was too much for him; he was stuck on the ground. “Now, what should we do first…why don’t we see how long you can hold your hand on a hot stove…” He withdrew a small, battery-operated grill, surveying it briefly, before he turned to survey Malcolm in a similar way. He started back over to him. “Maybe if you can leave it on for more than five minutes, I’ll let you skip out on the _other _surprise I brought for you. Just as an incentive.”

__

He walked back over to Malcolm and knelt on the floor. He switched it on, waiting patiently for it to heat up. He wasn’t paying any attention to Malcolm, but he did when all of a sudden he started to speak. “I’m sorry…” Winston frowned, looking down at him oddly. He hugged his jacket tighter to himself with a tiny grimace. His eyes were fixated on the grill. At the tight coils that were slowly but surely heating up. He realized Winston was staring at him, and got himself to go on. “About your boss,” he practically whispered. “That can’t be easy…to do everything, like that…” Winston opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The faint puzzlement stayed on his face. Malcolm’s eyes flashed, before he dared to ask: “Where do you work?”

__

There was silence. Before he returned a stiff: “A store.”

__

Malcolm bent his elbow, hacking into it for a stretch of seven or ten seconds. When the fit passed, his eyes were glistening with even more pain. “Do you have friends, there?” he croaked. This time, Winston didn’t answer at all. He looked back at the grill intently, suddenly very invested, like he was surveying it for damage. It was all the answer Malcolm needed to receive. “I know how that feels…to not have friends. I don’t have very many either…” His eyes may or may not have flickered to the camera, still rolling in the corner. It was too hard to tell. “I always...wished people liked me more. Always…thought it was my fault…

__

“But…y’know, something…occurred to me…” Winston was turned towards him now, listening. “I may not…have a lot ‘f friends…but…the ones I do…are good.” Despite how sick and pale he was, how shaky and nauseous and weak, Malcolm smiled. Somehow. “And I thought…people think it’s better…to have a _lot _of people like you…to be popular. People…associate that with good relationships. But…I think it’s okay to just have a couple…_good_ relationships…that are better. I think it’s _better _that way…

__

“Because…what would you rather have? Fifty pennies…or four quarters? It’s not the number of relationships…it’s what’s in each one. Even if you _just _have one person…that _really _cares about you…you might have a hundred dollar bill. The number makes no difference.” Winston continued to just stare at him, but something was different about his expression. Malcolm smiled at him more, hope starting to leak into his eyes. He started to prop himself up on his elbow, having to go slow, because his head was so prone to swimming. “Do you…have anyone like that?”

__

Winston still refused to speak. But something on his face must have answered him.

__

“It’s never too late,” Malcolm tried. He choked back another cough, so he could keep going. “I thought there was no hope for me either— but I found friends. Or…they found _me. _Someone could find you, still. There’s still a chance.” He glanced down at the ground briefly before he forced his head back up, smiling gentler. “I understand…how lonely it can be…how horrible it feels…to be alone. I could…be that person for you. I swear.” Winston’s eyes narrowed. But there was shocking sincerity on Malcolm’s face.

__

Of course there was.

__

“If you…take me back, now…if you turn yourself in, it’ll all go over easier, for you. I can _promise _you, I could _make it easier for you. _You could get the _help _you need— we could arrange for you to go someplace good, someplace that would help you face your past. I know— I _know_ people, I could— make sure you’re okay. You could get _better— _there’s so much _more _to you, than just _this. _I _know _there is, I can _tell.” _His hands were shaking, even as they gripped the jacket he’d pulled around himself. There was a pathetic kind of desperation on his face. A subtle panic over the threat of this not taking. But both of those were underneath the initial layer of hope and sincerity. “I _promise you…_if you turn yourself in, I would be with you…_every _step of the way— we could figure this out _together…_you wouldn’t be alone anymore. And I know that’s what you _really _want: to not be alone…”

__

Sick as he was, Malcolm was beginning to beam with hope as Winston just stared at him, as if contemplating the offer. But he wasn’t. It was month five out of a little over twelve. His voice was just a growl when he snapped back: “That’s not how this works.” Malcolm’s face fell. His eyes widened and his lower lip shook as he tried to open his mouth and say something. But Winston turned away from him, back to the grill. “You think you’re so _fucking smart, _saying anything you can to try and talk your way out of this— that’s _not _how it’s gonna go. You might think you have ‘connections’…but not _here _you don’t.”

__

Malcolm slumped back down to the floor, looking ten times as miserable as he had before. “I wasn’t just saying it, I _really meant—” _

__

“You think your ‘relationships’ are so _perfect _and _good?” _Winston spat. “Well then _where are they? Huh?” _Malcolm’s expression clouded. He curled his knees to his chest, his eyes quickly beginning to shimmer with tears. “It’s been _five months— _obviously your _‘friends’ _don’t give a _shit _about you. Otherwise they would have found you by now.” This was bad enough, but he had to make it worse. “Saw your sister on the news, the other day.” Malcolm stiffened, his teary eyes beginning to grow angry. But the anger was quick to melt as he went on. “She was just as great as she always was! Gave her report like there was nothing in the world that was wrong! Obviously you’re not even on her mind. She couldn’t be bothered to look even the _tiniest bit upset _you’re still missing. That’s how _insignificant_ you are, to her. How’s that for a _quarter, _hm?”

__

Malcolm was silent, to that. He didn’t have anything to say.

__

“You think you’re so high and mighty— that you found friends that care about you…nobody gives a _shit _about you, Malcolm Whitly. _Nobody. _‘Cause if they do, I would know about it. And you would, too. And we wouldn’t be here right now.” It was wrong. It was wrong, and Malcolm _knew _it was wrong. He _had _to know it was wrong. And yet he was still crying. Silently, not blinking…but tears were dripping down his face anyway. “You’re nothing but a basket case to all of them— they’re _happy _you’re gone. Your little _team _is out there solving _other crimes— _they’ve _given up on this one, did you know that? _In _four months. Four months _was all it took for your sister to stop caring— for your ‘friends’ to throw in the towel. Because to them it’s just a _relief. _That you’re _here. _That you may as well be _dead.”_

__

Malcolm hunched over, hiding his face in his hands. His shoulders were beginning to shake.

__

Winston watched with cold satisfaction. “You’re _nothing_, Malcolm Whitly,” he spat. “You’ve always been alone. And you’re going to _die alone. Here.” _His shoulders shook even more, but he stayed silent. He kept all his sobs bottled back. Winston watched him cry for what seemed like much too long, before he turned and started to bend back down to the grill. The second he did, though, Malcolm was speaking again. His voice was painful just to hear. He forced it out regardless.

__

At first it was just a mumble. Something unintelligible.

__

Winston scowled. _“What?” _he hissed.

__

Malcolm choked back a swallow. He repeated, just a little louder: “C’n I…please have something to drink…?” Winston’s eyes narrowed again. Seeing this, Malcolm weakened with desperation. “I…’ve been throwing up so much…_please, _just a _little _bit of water— I-I’ll take anything, I just— I’m so thirsty…” The last few words were just muffled sobs. Ashamed, embarrassed, angry sobs that hurt just to hear. There was already disappointment in them, too; he expected to be turned down. He didn’t have hope to actually get anything. He knew better, by this point.

__

Winston’s glare melted away. He tipped his head to the side. “You’re thirsty?” he asked, softer suddenly. Malcolm looked up, a little surprised and only growing more so when he saw the change that the man had in his expression. That weak hope started to trickle back. He hesitated, but thirst was driving him over the edge; he nodded. Winston thought a moment, before he stood up, starting to smile. “Okay,” he reasoned. Malcolm started to prop himself up again. It was a pitiful sight: to see how much work it took to get himself just braced a little off the ground, but how eagerly he did so. Winston stood and Malcolm started to try and sit back up, likely under the impression that he was going to get him something from the bag he’d brought along, or go back to his car to get a water bottle, even.

__

He did neither of those things.

__

When he _did _do, was stoop down and grab the bucket beside him. The very second Malcolm realized what he was doing, his eyes were going wide and he was trying to curl away again, but it wasn’t like it mattered. Winston dumped the contents of the bucket directly onto him. He tried to scuttle backwards but it was no use— he was already against the wall, and it was already getting all over him. He was now covered with his own vomit— some had gotten into his hair but mostly it was from his shoulders, down, ruining the shirt he was wearing and staining it at once.

__

Shock had him staring down at himself for a couple of seconds, before it was fading and panic was coming to replace it. He started gagging, looking like he was going to be sick again as he started trying to brush it all off of him. He was only smearing it around more, in the process, and getting it on his hands, which made him gag even severer. “Then drink _that,” _Winston snapped, watching him struggle not to get ill again. Malcolm whirled for the bucket and yanked it close, losing the fight and vomiting out another couple heaves of nothing but liquid. This time between his heaves, his gasping and crying was spiked with anger.

__

Winston crouched again, waiting until he was through and looked up at him, to speak. “Listen to me,” he snarled. “You’re gonna _fill _that bucket. To the _top._ And then I’m gonna watch you _drink_ the _entire thing_. You do that— I’ll give you as much water as you want.” Malcolm tightened his hold on the bucket, his lips shaking. Winston smiled cruelly. Malcolm stared at him as if he was waiting for him to take it back. But he wasn’t. Winston just sat back like he was settling in for a good movie. “Go ahead. Take all the time you need,” he invited. “We’ve got the rest of the night.”

__

Malcolm looked from the bucket, to him, his expression threatening to break. All he could croak out eventually was a weak, hoarse: “Please…”

__

Winston glared at him. Waiting.

__

He cringed. He bent over the bucket again, and again, he began to choke.

__

JT paused the video, too sick himself to continue watching.

__

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

__

_Any updates? _

__

Gil stared heavily at his phone for what felt like ages, before he forced himself to answer. **Nothing.**

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_What do you mean? Is he asleep again?_

__

**No. He fell back asleep for a while but he’s awake again, now.**

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_And what is he doing? Does he still not know where he is? _

__

**He can’t even look at us. He’s still so confused. And scared. **His hands shook when he typed this. He sent this and was fast to add afterward: **The nurses haven’t even touched him this morning. Every time they’ve tried, it’s just set him off all over again. **

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_Can I see him?_

__

His heart tore. He felt horrible when he typed back: **No. Not yet. **

__

It took longer for Dani to send this next text. _What’s going to happen, now?_

__

The question was simple. But for some reason, it was punching him in the gut.

__

Rendering him breathless as he just stared down at his phone, watching the words blur and smear.

__

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

__

They had spent weeks sitting in this room and listening to the sound of Malcolm’s heart monitor, slow and steady as he slept. Before, there was nothing else to listen to. It was either listen to that, or listen to the hum of the ventilator do all the breathing for him. Now, along with his monitor, there were other sounds. In replacement of the humming of the ventilator, now they could hear his shallow, hitched breathing. It was tiny and quiet, but panic was making every inhale shake and tremble. Right now, the panic was barely able to be picked up, and yet they knew that if they so much as reached out and placed a hand on him it would spike and he would immediately start heaving and hyperventilating.

__

The other sound was a constant, steady thudding. It was even softer than his breathing, but it was steadier. Malcolm was still curled as far away as he could get, with all his injuries; he’d accomplished turning just a little more, so that his back was the tiniest bit turned towards everyone else, but it clearly still wasn’t enough. He was shaking with the pain the position was inflicting on him, along with all his fear, but he certainly wasn’t going to lay back again, even if it would have been much better for him. He was stubbornly remaining curled away, and though he couldn’t move his left arm, he was moving his right. His hand was clenched into a tight fist, and it was beating down into the mattress. Not hard, but hard enough for him to feel and for them to hear.

__

He was hitting it rhythmically, two fast thuds followed by a beat of silence, followed by two more and so on. There was no point to the motion. It seemed like he was just doing it to do it…like he was trying to ground himself in some way and this was just something he reverted to. The movement had to hurt. But he wasn’t stopping. Nobody tried to stop him, just like they hadn’t really tried to even speak to him yet. They just stared, a sorrowful kind of understanding raw in their eyes. They were all imagining him stuck on the floor of that factory, doing this same exact thing, his own knocking echoing back to him in the huge, empty space. It hurt to do, but it was _something_. Something to show that despite everything, he must still be alive, because he could hear the thudding his hand was making against the ground.

__

Gil was standing at the foot of the bed; his expression was weighted with sorrow and remorse too severe to even look at. Jessica was still sitting on his right. Every so often, she would reach out towards him like she was going to try and touch him, but she would always remember herself and pull her arms back. Ainsley was pacing on the side of the room Malcolm wouldn’t see her, biting on her nails. Her expression was just as raw with pain as her mother’s was.

__

His heart rate was still up. The nurse had just walked out— she had pulled them all out into the hall so that they could talk quietly and not be heard. Even just hearing people _talking_, had Malcolm reacting horribly. She had looked sympathetic to the answer she probably knew she was going to receive, and yet she’d offered medication anyway, explaining that she could try and give him something that might help calm him down. None of them had been sure— Malcolm hated sedatives and they’d already dosed him plenty of times. At their reluctance, she’d offered to give them a little more time, to see if he would come around on his own. They’d all gratefully accepted and thanked her.

__

She’d given them thirty more minutes. Since then, it had already been five, of them just agonizing over what they should do. They all kept looking at each other, like they were waiting to see which one of them would be brave enough to take the plunge. Ainsley was clearly too daunted by the task; whenever she looked at Malcolm she paled a little more— she thought it was hard enough seeing her older brother when he was asleep. This was ten times as difficult. Jessica looked at Gil almost like she was begging him to help her, but he looked just as hesitant. When he stared at Malcolm, there was nothing in his gaze but horrible pain and guilt. It was practically smothering him.

__

Eventually, taking in a shaky sigh, Jessica forced herself to stand. The two immediately fixated on her, their eyes widening a little. She glanced at them, but only briefly. She couldn’t bring herself to meet their stricken expressions— if she looked at them for too long, she was going to lose her nerve. Instead, she rushed to look back front, her hands clasping together nervously as she approached her son the way a person would approach a deer, trying their best not to startle it away. Malcolm didn’t hear her walk towards him. He just kept flinching into his pillow, kept hitting his fist down against the mattress.

__

The closer she got, the more she noticed. She saw the strained crease in his forehead, and the pain that was written on his face, right along with the fear. She saw that his lips were shaking. They trembled and shook, like he was either struggling not to sob, or he was just barely holding back a scream. Either of those could be the case. It broke her heart to see. Moving slowly, she crouched at his bedside, moving so that if his eyes opened, they would lock with hers. Her voice shook a little when she first started to use it, but she kept it as gentle and as sweet as she could, and it grew steadier the longer she spoke.

__

“Malcolm…” She expected him to react to her, but her heart still shattered even further when his entire body went into a spasm of fear. The terror on his face grew, and twisted his head back even further into his pillow. He gasped in hard and the breath he let out was so quick and punctured, it was more like a cry. When he beat his fist down again, it was with more force. All these things warned her to step away— to leave him alone. But she couldn’t.

__

This was her child. Her _darling _little boy, and he still thought he was trapped in that hell…

__

“Malcolm,” she pressed again, just the tiniest bit louder. He choked again. She put her hand down lightly on his shoulder. She expected this reaction, too. She expected him to cry out the way he did, to try and shrug her off, to start trembling in a more violent manner. She expected it, but it in no way made it easier for her. She felt like someone had stabbed her clean through the chest, and had left her to slowly bleed out. As she kept her hand on her son, and he started to breathe faster and faster, the pain she felt was almost certainly equivalent to dying. “Malcolm…look at me, darling…” she pleaded weakly. He was punching the bed harder and faster. As much as he could do with how weak he was, anyway. “It’s me…it’s _Mom_, Malcolm, just _look…”_

__

He screwed his eyes shut even tighter and tried to shrug her off. She reached out to place her other hand on his cheek and he froze, locking up and going stiff. He said nothing and still refused to open his eyes, but his expression crumbled and he started to whine low in his throat. His lips trembled even harder and before she knew it he started to sobbing weakly again. It was exactly like it had been before— there was no improvement. He was too scared to move— to keep hitting the bed, even. All he could do was lay there and cry, waiting for something to happen. For a hit or a punch or a kick, or _something. _

__

Jessica swallowed hard, by now almost flush with the side of the bed. “Honey…honey, _look _at me…_please…_” He kept sobbing brokenly. Emptily. She hesitated, but stood up a little so that she was leaning over him. She started to bend and work her arms underneath his shoulders, like she’d done when she’d first seen him. He gulped in panicked after panicked breath as he felt her start to bring him closer. “Shhhh…” She cradled him as best she could, with him still laying down, holding him close and beginning to rock from side to side, being careful not to hurt him.

__

Tears were running down her face almost as much as they were running down Malcolm’s, but unlike him she kept her sobs in check. “You’re alright…it’s okay— everything is going to be okay, now…” Malcolm was starting to quiet. His crying began to taper and his breathing began to stutter out back into a regular rhythm. Jessica smiled a watery smile, ducking down and planting a kiss on top of his head. He fell absolutely silent, motionless in her arms. Her smile was growing wider. “That’s it…you’re okay now…” she soothed. Gil and Ainsley watched with smiles of their own, hope beginning to foster in their eyes.

__

She rocked him for a couple more moments, holding him close to her and just relishing in the fact that he was actually _here, _and he was letting her hold him. He was _here, _her baby was _okay. _He was going to be just fine from now on— she would make sure of it. She would never lose him again, never _not_ treasure him for a single second; she would make sure he was safe from here on out. She kissed his head again, beginning to draw away and let him back down to the bed. Still, he was limp in her hold. Her voice was noticeably brighter as she did. “See? Oh, Malcolm…we’re _so sorry, _we did everything we could to find you, but see? You’re _safe _now, darling. Everything is going to be—”

__

The second she started to pull away from him, loosening her hold on him as she began talking, Malcolm lashed out. It was without any warning. One second he was motionless and silent, and the next his right arm was swinging out as fast as he could possibly make it go. The very instant he felt himself be freed enough to, he punched her square in the jaw— he was so weak and small now, it didn’t do nearly as much damage as it _could_ have, had things been different. But the blow was still hard enough to hear, and it threw Jessica’s backwards, both out of shock and pain. His eyes snapped open this time, but they were still blank and blown out with fear. His breathing was immediately shifting gears into hyperventilation.

__

Gil and Ainsley jumped at the unexpected attack. Jessica held her hand against her cheek, her eyes huge and shocked as she righted her balance at stared at him numbly. Their eyes met, but it wasn’t her son that was looking back at her— it was someone she’d never seen before. When she stayed crouched near him, too surprised to even think far enough ahead to get out of the way, Malcolm hit her again, screaming out in pure terror as he smacked her across the face. She barely had time to recover after this one, before he was hitting her again, and then again a fourth time, continuing to yell unintelligibly. It wasn’t until he was getting ready to hit her a fifth time did Gil finally snap into action.

__

“Malcolm!” He rushed over, shouldering Jessica aside a little roughly, but desperate to get her away from her son. She stumbled and ended up falling back to the floor. She didn’t try to get up; she just sat with horrified, empty eyes, holding her cheek which was already turning red. Ainsley ran over and dropped down beside her, helping steady her by the shoulders and trying to ask if she was alright. But Jessica wasn’t listening— she was just staring up at Gil as he tried to get Malcolm to calm down.

__

He ran over to him and immediately, without even seeing who it was, Malcolm was hitting him, too. Pure fear was supplying the drive behind his swings. Tears were rushing down his face as he switched between letting out screams of anger, and just crying out of fear and misery. Gil held his own hands out to try and block Malcolm’s swings as he crouched at his bedside like Jessica had. Malcolm swung faster, more desperate, but Gil just tried to catch all of his punches in his own hands. “Hey— hey, kid— _kid stop it, look at me, kid!” _Malcolm screamed and sobbed harder. Gil’s own tears were building; he was so preoccupied staring at the ruined expression on Malcolm’s face that Malcolm managed to land a punch to his cheek. He grunted, wincing briefly, before, without thinking, he grabbed his wrist, before Malcolm had the chance to yank his arm back for yet another blow.

__

Malcolm tried to fight, and wrench it back to himself. Gil’s words were breaking and choking as he tried not to do the same. “Bright— Bright, _calm down. _You’re okay— Bright, we’re not going to hurt you! We’re trying to help you— it’s your family! Bright, we’re your _family!” _Malcolm opened his eyes and Gil forced a smile on his face, however much he felt like he was going to break down instead. He was stupid enough to start to try and hope.

__

But the very _second _Malcolm saw him, the floodgates were open for his terror. His eyes widened to be ten times their normal size, and despite the fact he was already pale, Gil could _see _all the color drain away from his face. He was so terrified at the sight of him that at first, he couldn’t do anything at all. For a second or two, he just stared at him in complete shock, his mouth open wide in a silent scream. Gil’s stomach flipped. His face fell and he let go of his wrist, trying to see whether or not that was the source of his sudden swamp of fear. But it wasn’t. He let go of him and expected him to immediately try swinging again, but Malcolm couldn’t move anymore. He could just stare at him in undisguised horror.

__

Never in his life, had Gil seen _anyone_ stare at him with such profound terror.

__

Now, he was. And the terror was coming from _Malcolm_.

__

He started to try and ask if he was okay. But the second his mouth was moving, Malcolm started screaming again, still looking at him like he was a ghost. He tried to reach out, but Malcolm was immediately trying to scuttle back, ignoring all his injuries, at the way his body was screaming and begging for him to stop moving. The screeches he was letting out were inhuman. They took Gil’s breath right out of his body. He staggered, floored, and feeling like he might pass out right then and there. The nurses all rushed in. They tried to talk Malcolm down, but they couldn’t. And despite the group of four that rushed at him, and all their talking, Malcolm’s eyes stayed fixed on Gil. Even as he stumbled away from the mess, Malcolm couldn’t look away from him.

__

When two of the nurses started to carefully restrain him, Malcolm didn’t even spare a glance in their direction. One man held his arm down and the other planted one arm carefully down on his chest, and the other on his legs, to keep him from thrashing. The other two were helping one another to disconnect his IV so that they could administer whatever drug they had into his veins directly. All of that, and Malcolm just kept staring right at Gil, screaming and crying and shaking his head. Gil stared right back at him, too stunned to do anything else. Watching as Malcolm kept screaming and crying…until his movements got weaker and his screaming started to give out. He fell still, and his yelps turned into incoherent mumbles. His eyes stayed on Gil but they got blearier and blearier, until they rolled back and his head went slack.

__

He lost consciousness. The room was plunged back into silence.

__

The nurse turned around. Probably giving out another canned apology. None of them noticed.

__

All three just stared blankly at Malcolm. Like they had no idea who he was.

__

Like he was a stranger they’d never seen before.

__

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

__

**He won’t speak. He won’t eat. He won’t take medicine. The only thing he’ll do is lay there with his eyes closed. If the nurses so much as touch him he’s screaming or crying.**

__

_What are they doing for him?_

__

**They had no choice but to restrain him. His right arm is the only one he can move. It’s tied down now. So the nurses can do whatever they need to do.**

__

_It’s a lot for him to get his head around. You can’t be mad if it takes him some time._

__

**I’m not mad. I never said I was mad.**

__

_You didn’t have to._

__

Nothing.

__

_What is he doing now?_

__

**He had to get taken downstairs for another procedure. They sedated him before they went down. I guess he’s still under the anesthesia some, he hasn’t woken up yet.**

__

_And you said he hasn’t said anything yet?_

__

**Hasn’t uttered a single word.**

__

_Give him time. We all need to give him time. And support. He’ll need a lot of both._

__

Nothing, again.

__

_What’s wrong?_

__

**Nothing. When did I say something was wrong?**

__

_You didn’t have to._

__

A delay. Before: **When he saw me, he looked absolutely terrified. He started screaming even more. He’d seen Jessica and he didn’t react that way to her. He was scared but…not that like that. Not like when he saw me. **

__

_You’re sure you’re not just imagining it?_

__

**No. The instant he saw me, it was entirely different. He looked at me like…I was a monster. Or a ghost. Like I was gonna kill him.**

__

Another delay. Hesitation. Until: _It might just be because you’re…you._

__

**What does that mean?**

__

_He might have been more scared of you than he was Jessica because…well, think about it. You’re a man. Roughly the same height as Winston. You have the dark hair. We have no idea what the last thing Malcolm remembers is, but now he wakes up, has no idea what’s going on, and sees you? That’s scary._

__

**You think he might think I’m Winston?**

__

_Maybe. But even if it’s not that, you might just be too close to him. It might scare him._

__

**What do I do about that?**

__

_There’s not much you can do, I don’t think. Not right now. Again…he needs time._

__

...

__

_When do you think I can come and see him?_

__

...

__

_Gil?_

__

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

__

_“No.” Her mother sounded tired. Like she needed a nap. A nap that’d last like a billion years._

__

_“Why not?” Her mother didn’t look at her. Ainsley blew out her cheeks, reaching up and grabbing at the bottom of her dress, tugging. “Mommy, why can’t I go see Malcolm?” She didn’t get an answer. She stomped her foot, only growing more indignant. “I’m bored! There’s nothing to do anymore! I wanna play house! Or Candyland! Malcolm loves playing those with me! It’ll make him happy!” When she still said nothing, Ainsley began to grow angrier. “I can make him happy again, I know I can! If I ask him to play he’ll be so happy! He’ll smile again, and he’ll talk again and he’ll be okay again but you’re not letting me try!”_

__

_“Ainsley, I will _not_ tell you again: leave your brother alone,” she hissed. “This isn’t a debate.”_

__

_“You’re not being fair!” she yelled. Her mother closed her eyes tighter, mumbling something under her breath. She raised her voice. “You’re not being fair, you’re being mean! Why can’t I play with Malcolm!? Huh!? I wanna play with him! it’s not _fair! _It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not—!” _

__

_“Ainsley!” At her mother’s scream, Ainsley froze. Her eyes went huge and her stomach dropped. Her mother glared down at her with a surprising degree of anger. “I said no! You cannot bother your brother right now— do you understand me!? He is—!” She choked and had to start over, glaring even harder to make up for the tremble in her voice when she yelled, “He is _sick!_ Your brother is sick and you can’t ask him to play with you, he can’t do that right now, and I am tired and upset and you are making it worse— I can’t deal with you right now so just go play by yourself! You _cannot _bother your brother!”_

__

_She said all of this in a rush and was fast to spin around. She stormed away, without even glancing over her shoulder, back at her. Ainsley watched her go, her eyes round with hurt and confusion. Wondering why her Mom was so quick to get angry now, and why she always cried. _

__

_Wondering why Malcolm was sick. And why he wasn’t getting any better._

__

Her mother was finally sleeping. For _once_. She practically had to be pried away from Malcolm’s bedside, even though nothing had changed. All day, just like every other day so far, he’d stayed turned away from them, still breathing hard and whimpering every so often. At some point, he realized and made the connection there was a blanket on him— or that there was _something _covering him. His good arm was still restrained, but little by little bit, they’d watched in silence as he’d shifted and slid down in the bed until he could worm underneath. All they could see of him now, was the top of his head. The rest of him was just a shivering huddle under the covers.

__

That had been about an hour ago; it hadn’t changed at all. He was still underneath the blankets.

__

Like a child trying to hide from monsters under the bed.

__

She was in the chair usually reserved for Jessica. Her mother was asleep on the couch. Gil sat in the tiny space she wasn’t occupying. He looked just as haggard and exhausted, but he was refusing sleep. He was just staring with a haunted look on his face, appearing about thirty years older than he actually was. He looked like he was in horrible pain. Like he was struggling to hold the weight of the world but he was already beginning to buckle. She knew better than to try and speak. So the silence was left to fester.

__

When the nurse had come into the room, she’d flashed Ainsley a sympathetic smile. Ainsley just looked back at Malcolm in silence. She was _sick_ of getting that smile. She hated it. It was _so_ patronizing. But it wasn’t as patronizing as when the nurse went over to her brother, leaning down a little and prompting: “Hey, Malcolm?” Ainsley’s fingers curled when she heard the tone of her voice. It was light and soft— almost sing-songy. She talked to him like he was five— like he was a _baby_. Practically _all _the staff did. It immediately got her blood boiling. Her jaw locked back and her teeth started to grit together more. The nurse didn’t notice. She just tilted her head to the side and tried again, making her voice ooze with condescending affection even more. “Hey, Malcolm, can I do a quick assessment on you?”

__

Of course he said nothing. The nurse grabbed the blanket gingerly and started to pull it away anyway. Ainsley saw him stiffen again. He had _just_ started to relax. Now that there was a new voice, and especially now that his tiny shelter was being taken away, he was back to going rigid. “_Thank _you,” the nurse said, like he was a dog that had brought a ball back. Ainsley’s eyes flickered down to his arm. His wrist, bound down to the other side of the bed, was clenching. His grip was so tight, it made his arm shake.

__

His silent desperation made her throat begin to burn.

__

The nurse slipped her stethoscope down the neck of his gown to start to place it on his chest. He jerked— his right arm tugged hard on the restraint. She couldn’t tell what he was trying to do: swing out and hit her, or yank his body to the right, so he could get away. Either one, was breaking her heart. The nurse ignored him _then, _too. Even when he yanked again, and again a third time, whimpering under his breath, she just listened to his lungs. Ainsley’s head was hurting, she was clenching her teeth so hard. Finally, she couldn’t take it. She kept her voice down but each word was cutting. “Okay, you can stop.”

__

The nurse looked up, surprised. “I— I’m sorry, I was just trying to—”

__

“Yeah, well, now you need to leave my brother alone,” she snapped, only getting tarter. She looked taken aback and a little indignant, but Ainsley stayed firm. “You’re upsetting him— he’s confused and scared and _upset_ and you’re just making him worse and you’re not even _caring _about it, so _leave him alone and get out.” _At first she looked too stunned to say anything. Ainsley glared at her expectantly, leaving no room for her to argue. But she knew she wouldn’t. She just cleared her throat, looking one more time at Malcolm before nodding and stepping away. She turned and left the room quickly. Ainsley followed, so she could be sure to shut the door behind her. She saw how disgruntled she looked, but she honestly didn’t care.

__

She glared out the glass, clenching her own fists. She turned back around to see that Gil had changed so his saddened stare was resting on her, now. They held one another’s gaze for a long moment— pointlessly, because neither of them knew what they were doing. What they were _all _doing. After a couple moments, Ainsley wilted and looked at her brother, her anger melting away. He’d relaxed again, albeit reluctantly. She felt something squeeze hard in her chest. She hesitated, before she walked back. But this time, instead of sitting in the chair again, she sat on the edge of his bed.

__

She sat in the top corner, her eyes raw with pain as she looked at her brother. He was ducking his head again. She understood, and, biting down on her pain, she grabbed the blanket, pulling it up gently back to where it had been. Immediately, he was falling still, once he felt himself get covered again.

__

Gil was sparse on the details, when she asked him what had happened when he’d found Malcolm, but he _had _said that he’d barely seen him at first— that he was covered up by a dirty, frayed tarp. The fact he was calming down when she pulled the blanket over him was heartbreaking to her. She wondered if he thought that meant he was safe. If, whenever the monster that had tortured him day in and day out left, he would always cover him that way— if that was the only time her brother could believe he was okay, at least for a little bit. If he associated the feeling of something over him as a respite, and that was why he was so fast to start trembling and shaking, when the nurse pulled it away. Because when he _wasn’t_ covered, he was vulnerable. It meant someone was pulling it off to hurt him.

__

She sniffed, reaching up and wiping her eyes. She looked down, her expression starting to crumble. Wordless, she shifted the blanket ever so slightly, so it was off his arm. His hand wasn’t curled into a fist, anymore. It was limp on the bed, upturned. This restraint looked much softer than the ones he had at home, but she still hated the fact it was there. She sniffed again, and reached out slowly. With a glacier-like pace. Gil sat a little straighter, but she didn’t stop. Once she got close enough, at first she only lowered far enough for her fingertips to barely graze his palm. She expected his flinch. The tiny jerk of his arm, the tiny whine from under the covers. But he didn’t pull away from her. His hand stayed.

__

Centimeter by centimeter, she smoothed her hand down more, until her fingers were splayed against his. She lingered that way, judging his reaction. His hand was twitching underneath hers, but he wasn’t moving it. A watery smile traced slow over her face when, gently, she intertwined their fingers. Or, at first it was only her holding onto him. His hand stayed lifeless, but she was more than happy with just that. At least she could hold onto him. At least he wasn’t pushing her away.

__

When he moved, it was fast and unexpected. When his fingers suddenly clenched tight, she expected him to lash out and try to hurt her, like he’d tried to hurt Mom. She barely had time to register it, but the second she saw him and felt him move, she was flinching and trying to brace herself. She tried to anticipate whatever it would be— a punch, a smack, _anything_. What she _didn’t _anticipate was his fingers curling back just as tightly as they had before, clamping down around her hand. She jumped, her eyes snapping back open. She looked down and stopped short, her breath catching in her throat.

__

He was holding back to her so tightly, it hurt. His knuckles were white and trembling with the effort. But suddenly, he was clinging to her with everything he had. She faltered a little when she saw he was still hiding himself under the blankets. He hadn’t inched out even the tiniest bit. She thought of trying to ease the covers off, but she was quick to decide against it. She didn’t want to push her luck. Instead, smiling a little despite the newfound surge of tears in her eyes, she matched him and held him back with the same amount of force. He didn’t pull away, or back off. He stayed holding to her in the exact same way.

__

The smile stayed on her face, however pained; she looked at him with a tearful smile that was just as much happy as it was sad. She sniffed, her lips trembling even more when she took in a fast breath and whispered: “It’s okay, Mal…” Her brother held onto her a little tighter. He had so much strength, for how much he’d wasted away. It was all his fear. All his desperation. She held him tighter against it all, and murmured a thick but bracing: “I’ve got your back…”

__

Malcolm didn’t say anything. He didn’t look at her, or come out from under the blanket.

__

But he _did_ keep clinging to her. Like she was his lifeline.

__

Like she was his last hope and he was hanging on for dear life.

__

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

__

“You think this will work?” Gil asked in a quiet, tense murmur.

__

Jessica closed her eyes, sighing slowly and shaking her head just a fraction. “I don’t know.” They stood together in the hallway, just outside Malcolm’s door. They’d left her son like he always was now— curled awkwardly (and most certainly _painfully_) under the blankets. When she looked at Gil it was with all the indecisiveness and fear there was to see. She hadn’t bothered to put on makeup in weeks. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and he was fairly certain that when she’d changed this morning, it was the first time had had ever seen her wear jeans. There were bags under her eyes that had never been there before.

__

It was like this entire thing had changed her into someone completely different.

__

When she held his gaze, searching his face so thoroughly, he wondered if she was thinking the same thing, when she looked at him.

__

Movement at the end of the hall caught their eye. They both turned, their hearts skipping the same beat. The instant her eyes found her, Jessica’s shoulders were slouching with an obscene amount of relief. Gil glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his stomach churning at the look on her face. He saw her smile, and he looked away, not sharing the optimism. He actually had to fight the urge to flinch away from it. It was dangerous…how quick she was to throw herself into hope.

__

Throughout all of this, she should know the most that hope was something they had a very short supply of.

__

If she used too much too fast, they might run out of it.

__

He was close to saying something, but he managed to hold his tongue. He just clasped his hands uneasily behind his back as he watched the woman approach. He told himself to take a backseat. This situation was Jessica’s to control. And she did. He could see the way she forced her shoulders back and her head up. He could see her try to quickly put together her pieces again— to leave all that doubt and worry she’d had on her face not thirty seconds ago, behind. It hurt him, for some reason. To see her have to put that mask back on.

__

“Gabrielle…” The name came out in a breath of fervent relief. The woman smiled as she neared. Jessica walked forward a couple steps to meet her and bring her in for a hug. Gabrielle’s smile turned softer. They drew away, but kept holding to the others’ arms. Gil saw her give Jessica’s another gentle, reassuring squeeze. Jessica’s smile grew, but her voice was much sadder when she spoke next, dropping into a quieter murmur. “You have _no_ idea how happy I am to see you…I’m sorry to call you out all this way…”

__

She shook her head. “It’s no trouble.” Her eyes flickered to look behind her. They flashed when they caught sight of the tiny form hiding underneath the sheets. Her expression grew soberer. “When…Malcolm hadn’t come to visit me in quite some time, I started to hope, at first, that it just meant he was improving on his own…” Jessica closed her eyes, grimacing in something akin to pain. “But when I heard the news…” Her eyes darkened, and fractured with pain, as well. She hesitated before asking her question. The question they both knew was coming but were still somehow unprepared for. “How is…his condition? You…spoke to me briefly on the phone, but…I can’t imagine that was all there was to tell.”

__

Gil already saw tears beginning to form Jessica’s eyes. She was doing her best to hold them back, and keep her voice clear. “He’s, uh…he’s…” Her hand strayed up to her cheek— the one that Malcolm had hit. There was no bruise there, to mark it. He wasn’t strong enough for that. “He’s…he’s not…well…not at all…” Gabrielle nodded slowly, looking past her again, into the hospital room. “He’s— _very _scared…” Her voice cracked; she had to stop and clear her throat before she could continue. “He’s been awake for…four…?” She glanced at Gil, confused. He had to think, himself, before he could nod. In the ICU, all the days seemed to blur together. “Four days,” she confirmed, looking back. “But…there’s…been no improvement. He…he can’t even look at us. He…hasn’t even said anything. Not a word.”

__

“I see…” she murmured.

__

“He’s very hurt,” she cautioned. “His— his left arm— it’s broken. He has…a lot of broken bones, his— his…ankles…” She trailed off. Her eyes were growing shinier. She tried to keep going. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, like she was going to. But nothing came.

__

Gil was stepping in before he even realized he made the choice to. “Both his ankles were broken.” Jessica looked at him, surprised. He kept going, and gratitude made her weaken a little. “His hand was shattered; so was his right leg. He had a chest tube, but they took that out a while ago. He…had to get a _lot _of stitches. A majority of his wounds were infected— they want you to wear a mask and gloves while you’re in there with him, he’s so… compromised. And his— he’s lost a _lot _of weight. They got it up…just a bit with the feedings, but it’s…it’s still a shock…to…to see him…it’s like he’s…not…” He trailed off, unsure.

__

In his head he was listing all the injuries hadn’t mentioned. The slice under his chin, the bruising around his neck that was just barely visible anymore. The ugly surgery incisions that had been left behind in the wake of his near-constant procedures. The slashing ladder-rung injuries scoring up both his forearms. Even beyond those, there were more. But if he listed them all, he was sure to be there all day. He just looked at her helplessly, ending it there.

__

She seemed to understand, though. She softened, saddened but clearly bracing herself. “Alright,” she murmured, looking between the two of them. “And…you would like me to—”

__

_“Anything,”_ Jessica interrupted. Guilt clouded over her face and she grimaced when she doubled back. “If…if you can do _anything_ for my son…you’ve helped him once before, I’ve…I can never express to you how grateful I was for that...” She said this quieter. She reached up to wipe her eyes. Gabrielle warmed. “He’s…I…” She glanced briefly at the floor. She had to gather the strength that it took to get out these next few words. “I’ve missed my son for a _year, _now. I’ve finally gotten him back, and he’s still…” She took in a sharp breath. “I just want to help him. I just…want to _actually _have him back. And _safe_.”

__

Gabrielle smiled, but when she spoke, she made sure she aired on the side of caution. “He will likely need _time…_Jessica.” Gil remembered the same words Dani had texted to him. It felt no better to hear them aloud. “Malcolm will need a lot of time. And _patience. _This is not going to be something that requires a couple sessions…it’s not something that will resolve itself within a couple months.”

__

“I know, I know…” Jessica rushed. “I— just…need a _beginning…_just a way to _start…”_

__

She considered this in silence. She looked one last time from Jessica to the room behind her. Jessica watched, hardly even breathing as she waited. She didn’t know why she was so scared— why she feared that Gabrielle would say no. She knew she wouldn’t. And yet when Gabrielle gave some small nods, Jessica was still sighing and deflating in relief, like a weight had been lifted right off her shoulders. “I can try and see if he’ll speak to me,” she relented.

__

Jessica was already opening her mouth to spurt out a fountain of thank-you’s, but she wasn’t through. “If you wouldn’t mind my suggestion, why don’t you go downstairs and get some lunch?” She faltered, caught off-guard by the offer. Which wasn’t exactly an offer, but more of a silent demand. It made sense— right now, Malcolm had only ever reacted negatively, to them. And everything that happened between him and Gabrielle was meant to be confidential, even now. Those aside from the fact that Jessica only stepped foot outside this ICU to go down to the surgery waiting room again, to wait through yet another procedure. Every meal she’d managed to force down was at Malcolm’s side. She hadn’t _wanted _to leave. She’d been too scared to.

__

It was no different now. She hesitated, her mouth slightly ajar like she wanted to argue. But with the way Gabrielle was looking at her, she couldn’t. She just closed it and gave a couple nods. Gabrielle smiled, and reached out again to squeeze her shoulder, before she turned her attention back to where Malcolm was. She brushed past them— Gil stepped aside to give her room. Jessica wrung her hands together, watching as the therapist slid her son’s door open and closed again. The pair stood together for a while, staring blankly. Gil glanced at Jessica. She seemed to be debating on something.

__

He weakened, already knowing. “Jessica…”

__

She ignored him. Instead, she walked back towards the room. She moved to stand with her back to the wall, just past the very edge of the doorframe. He grimaced, glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone was in the hall, to see. But it was empty. He agonized for a couple seconds before he gave in too, and rushed to stand beside her. Jessica didn’t even glance at him; at least she wasn’t shooing him away. Slowly, she leaned out and slid the door back open just a crack, so she could hopefully hear Gabrielle better. It was difficult, because her voice was so soft. But Jessica leaned closer, and she could manage it.

__

She was speaking in a gentle tone. Not an overly-affectionate one, or a patronizing one, like so many of the staff automatically took to. Just soft, and light. “…have missed you,” she was murmuring. Jessica took the risk to lean out, just enough so she could peek inside. Her heart broke the instant she saw. Gabrielle was sitting in a chair with her back to the door, facing her son. Malcolm was still holed away. She could see the fact he was shaking even from where she stood. Gabrielle was watching him carefully, likely judging every single minute reaction there was to see. There was a long stretch of silence, as she looked at him. Either waiting for something, or trying to decide something. Possibly both. Because when she started again, her soft tone wavered, with just a bit of solemnness.

__

“Malcolm…I cannot imagine what you’ve just gone through…I don’t know much, and I understand it’s much too soon for you begin to talk about it…but…talking at _all, _might help you to realize it might be over…” He still wasn’t changing. He stayed hidden away, like a turtle in its shell. She tilted her head to the side, leaning a little closer. “You have many wonderful people here with you, Malcolm…they all want to help you get better. To make you feel _safe…_” She paused, waiting. She was coming up with nothing, and yet ceaselessly, she continued to throw out her line and start over again. “I think you would find that _I’m _a familiar face. If you looked at me.” This time, Jessica saw the smallest shift underneath the blankets. Like he might be tempted. It was all that was offered, and yet Gabrielle picked up on it.

__

“Do you want to try and look at me, Malcolm?” she invited gently. “I haven’t seen your face in so long. I would very much like to have a chance to see you, now…” He shifted again, but that was it. It wasn’t enough to get his head out. She sat up a little straighter. Initially, Jessica froze, panic rushing through her as she thought the therapist might have caught onto the fact they were eavesdropping. When she stood, Jessica whirled back around, ducking out of the doorway and pressing her back to the wall again. Gil was watching her tensely, judging what was happening based on her reactions. When she flew back and looked at him, his eyes widened. He looked baffled, but Jessica just waited, sure that Gabrielle was going to storm out here and snap them away.

__

“There.” Jessica frowned when she heard Gabrielle’s voice, nothing but satisfied. She waited a few moments, before she cautiously turned and stuck her neck out again. She was looking back into the room just in time to see Gabrielle sitting again. At first, she wasn’t sure what had happened. But then she realized, when she went on. “I don’t think we need that.” She’d taken the restraint off. Jessica’s eyes widened. She could see Malcolm immediately pulling his arm back to his chest. “Not if we’re friends,” Gabrielle just said simply. “Don’t you think?”

__

He moved a little, again. Jessica’s heart skipped a beat when she saw the blanket inch down just a millimeter.

__

She tried a different tactic. “It’s a wonderful day outside,” she told him, pleasantly, like they were just there to have a nice conversation. “I know that you hate it when it’s hot out— but today, it’s nice. There’s a pleasant breeze, there’s not a cloud in the sky…it’s quite beautiful.” She got up again, walking over to the window and slowly pulling aside the curtains they always kept drawn. Jessica was quick to duck away again, so Gabrielle wouldn’t see her when she turned and went back. She peered in again and saw the room filled with sunlight. The sight almost disarmed her, to see it lit up by something other than harsh fluorescent. “Wouldn’t you like to see how nice it is?”

__

There was a long stretch of absolutely nothing. Malcolm stayed hidden…now that sunlight had pooled itself onto his blanket, likely peeking through the stitching, he had fallen still, like he was disarmed at the sight. Gabrielle did nothing; this time, she waited, for what, apparently, she knew was going to come. Sure enough, after what felt like ten years, the blanket started twitching down little by little. Jessica’s eyes flooded with tears instantly when she saw him lower it down enough for his eyes to peek out. Initially, they screwed up against the light. He had to blink fast, like he’d been trapped in pitch black for hours and someone had just abruptly snapped the lights on. But he worked to get them adjusted.

__

Gradually, his blinking grew less rapid. He was staring off into space; thankfully he wasn’t noticing Jessica just barely peeking inside. Her heart ripped, once he could see again. When he opened his eyes normally and his face cleared, her heart broke into a million pieces. Every time she had looked at him, he was either too groggy to look like himself, or he was filled with terror. She hadn’t seen him look like _himself. _But now, when he opened his eyes, she could _see _him. He was still a little more scared than he used to be…but his gaze was steady, and for right now, as he stared at the sunlight, he looked like _himself. _The most himself he’d looked this entire time.

__

“Hello, Malcolm…” He stiffened just a little, at his name. His eyes flickered to her fast— he tensed with a little jerk, and it looked like he was going to try and yank his blanket back over his head. But when his eyes met hers he froze. He looked confused and alarmed…but also surprised, somehow. There was no recognition or happiness; he stayed blank. But Gabrielle wasn’t disheartened— more importantly, she wasn’t letting herself to react at how different he looked. She stayed calm and pleasant; she wasn’t crying, or recoiling away. “It’s very good to see you, again…” She paused, but he stayed silent. “I was very concerned when your mother called me…she was very worried about you. She asked me to come and speak with you, she was so worried…”

__

He stayed mute.

__

Gabrielle paused, judging him. She turned and leaned down to the purse she had sat down beside her. “I brought you something…” He watched her, still stiff. She got something out and sat back up, holding it out to him. Jessica covered her mouth, swallowing hard when she realized what it was. Malcolm stiffened even more; his eyes widened, when he looked at the small sucker. “I brought you root beer,” she said softly. “I have a couple more, if that isn’t your favorite. But I thought I should bring you one. For old time’s sake.” Malcolm still just gawked. Jessica saw his lower lip shake. Slowly, she offered it closer to him. “Would you like to take it, Malcolm?”

__

He did. He did so slowly, very frightened. His hand shook. But he reached out and took it from her. He didn’t try to open it or put it in his mouth. He just stared, his tears building silently. Gabrielle tilted her head to the side. “We’ve been through this before, Malcolm…haven’t we?” she murmured. Malcolm looked back up at her, his face falling even more. Still, he was mute. “I understand, Malcolm…how much it is. I understand you feel just like you used to. Like everything is too much, for you, to speak. But we got through it once before, didn’t we?” One of his breaths in hitched, like he was close to crying. She softened. “Your family is very worried, Malcolm. They want to see you again…they miss you. You’re _home _now. And it might be difficult to understand, but we can work on it, can’t we?”

__

He held the sucker tighter, holding it against his chest.

__

She scooted her chair a little closer. “How about we try…saying _anything,” _she offered. He weakened, but she kept her voice bright. “How about…we say the alphabet? Just the alphabet…nothing more. And you can see that you’re safe…that nothing bad will happen, if you speak…” He looked just as unsure. Just as daunted and scared. “We can do it together…you can repeat after me. It’s just us in here— nobody else. Nobody is even listening.” She waited, giving him an encouraging smile. He stayed a blank slate. She cleared her throat and began. “…A…”

__

Malcolm’s lips shook again. He searched her face, like he was begging for help.

__

Gabrielle kept her encouraging, reassuring smile. “A…” she repeated.

__

Jessica thought it wouldn’t take. That this effort, like all these others, wasn’t going to be enough. That it was just going to be another disappointment, another thing to show that her son was long gone and there was nothing to do that could work and she had failed him again. Her heart started to break, and her breathing started to puncture. But then Malcolm opened his mouth and she froze. Nothing came out, at first. His mouth was ajar, but air couldn’t force itself into becoming actual syllables. But then it did. Then, something clicked.

__

His voice was small, and scratchy. Even in the one syllable, she could hear unimaginable pain and fear and sorrow and loneliness. His voice barely sounded like his own. And yet it did. Somewhere in the far back reaches, she could hear her son— hear the happy voice that had told her he loved her so many times when he was little, the voice that had wished her goodnight and happy birthday and happy mother’s day. She heard a year of abuse and torture and horror in that voice, but she also heard her baby in it, too. Her little boy, who she loved so much. Would do anything for. Had missed for ages, and was just beginning to fear there was no recovering him…she heard it, in the little syllable. The little, whimpering, syllable.

__

“…A…” he breathed. That was it. But it was enough.

__

Gabrielle beamed. “That’s it, Malcolm…” Jessica had no idea how she was keeping herself calm. But she just moved on, staying slow, so he could keep up. “B…”

__

He returned it faster this time, even more tears hiding in his voice when he repeated: “…B…”

__

“C.”

__

“…C…”

__

It went like that, Gabrielle steadfastly moving to the other letter and Malcolm stumbling after her, struggling to make his voice work. With every letter, he sounded more choked. Gabrielle made sure he was okay before they moved on, trying to get through the entire alphabet. It was slow going, and for Malcolm, it grew increasingly difficult. But he was doing it. Even when he started to cry and gasp in his breath a little more to get the letter out, he was doing it. Not only was he speaking, but he was complying. He was listening, he was registering. Right now, it was just the alphabet. It wasn’t much. But it was what Jessica had asked for: a start.

__

So she listened to the letters and her son’s voice, finally back. She leaned back so that she was against the wall again— she didn’t have to see anymore— it was enough to just listen. And as she listened, she was struck with so much love and relief and sorrow and anger at the same time that she started to cry. She covered her mouth to try and stifle herself, so they wouldn’t be caught. But she couldn’t stop herself. She knew that Gil was crying, too— that they both knew how much bigger this was. She felt his arm go around her, and if it was any other time she might have smacked him off in her blind anger over this entire thing. She might have told him not to touch her— to leave her alone.

__

But for right now, she couldn’t possibly. She let him hold and her, and despite herself, she found herself moving to hold him just as tightly back, crying into his shoulder as Malcolm kept struggling.

__

Tears that were happy but so unbearably sad at the same time, as they both kept listening to her son, and hung tightly to every letter he managed to get out.

__


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your patience! I hope this chapter makes the wait worth it, I tried to make it as best I can. It was getting to be too long so I had to cut some stuff for next chapter, so some bit of that is already done! I had a lot I needed to get done and apparently not a lot of room to get it all in. I hope you like this chapter a little bit better than I do! But I don't usually like my chapters anyway so c':  
I really hope you like it!! And if you do I hope I can hear it from you in a review! I never think a whole lot of people like my work, so to hear that apparently there's a good number out there makes me so happy you've got no idea!!!  
I hope I can keep up the quality of this story; I have a lot planned from here on out, which I hope is evident by the end! I would have kept going but I reached page 30. 
> 
> Also just for a note, because I'm getting just as anxious as you guys are: From here on out, Malcolm is gonna go right back to being a central chracter ♡

‘Go slowly. Don’t speak right away. Stay behind me until I mention you.’

The directions were simple and yet as Jessica followed Gabrielle, she found herself repeating them over and over to herself. At first, she had no idea why. She blamed it on her nerves, and just the fact that by now, it was clear Gabrielle was much better at handling this situation than she was— than _any _of them were. But she realized _why_ she was stuck on it so much, as they slowly walked back into her son’s hospital room. She wasn’t repeating it back to herself to make sure she followed the directions; she was repeating it back to herself, because the directions seemed so _foreign._

This was her _son. _It was her _baby. _This was who used to run to her when he was little and he was scared of thunderstorms. This was who had made her homemade card after homemade card for mother’s days and valentine’s days. This was who she had read to sleep every night, and who she’d praised over aced math tests or impressive school projects. This was who she had hugged, had kissed, had loved fiercely their entire lives…and now she was being cautioned on approaching him. She was being warned it might be too much for him, that he might not react well. This was her baby, and yet with the directions, it was more like she was being introduced to a skittish dog for the first time.

It broke her heart, but she obeyed. Every step of hers was slow, and they only came after another of Gabrielle’s. They walked back into the room— Gil had stayed behind, for now. Thankfully they had had the wits about them to leave before Gabrielle decided it was time to bring Jessica in with her— they’d gone to the family lounge instead, so she wouldn’t know they’d been listening in. Though for some reason, Jessica was sure was already well aware.

Gil had wanted to come too, but Gabrielle had warned against it. It was best that it was only her, for now, and that they would introduce everyone back to him slowly, starting with her and Ainsley. Gil had looked disappointed and upset, but honestly, the moment Jessica realized she was going to be able to go to her son, she wasn’t thinking about anything else. She left quickly, without even glancing over her shoulder as she left him behind. Her heart was hammering in her ears as she followed Gabrielle back inside, over the threshold. She shut the door behind her, and drew the curtain, as Gabrielle had asked her. The less stimulation for him right now, the better, she’d said. Again, Jessica hurried to blindly trust her.

Her heart twisted when she realized that in their absence, Malcolm had pulled the blanket up again. He was hiding underneath, and Jessica shot Gabrielle a worried look. But she didn’t seem surprised or inconvenienced. She simply walked back over to him. “Malcolm…it’s me again.” He shifted, the blanket inching down just slightly, but not enough to uncover his eyes. Gabrielle wasn’t bothered. “I brought your mother with me this time,” she said, and Malcolm twitched the blanket again. Jessica’s eyes were welling up with tears as she waited, on-edge. Desperate to just rush over and hug him. “She would like to see you…it’s been a very long time— she’s missed you as much as you missed her, I’m sure.”

He stayed still.

Gabrielle leaned down a little. “Do you think you could at least look at her? Nothing bad will happen if you look at her; I promise. There’s no one here but us three.” He was very slow to accept the fact. It didn’t even really seem like he believed her at all. But, moving at fractions of inches at a time, he gradually eased the blanket down. Jessica’s heart skipped a beat. When she saw him: awake, and up close, and not lashing out. The amount of fear that was still on his face was immediately grabbing her heart and twisting it harshly. She tried to do her best not to show it, though, and keep her smile.

He wasn’t looking at her, at first. He was staring down at the sucker he still held tight in his hand— he hadn’t let go of it yet. His eyes were crowded with fear and anxiety; his eyebrows were knitted and his forehead was creased. The sucker was shaking, in his grip. They stood in tense silence, waiting for Malcolm to scrounge up the courage to lift his head. He didn’t. Gabrielle turned, looking over her shoulder at Jessica, who was already fixing her with her own desperate look. Silently asking her what she should do.

Gabrielle just tilted her head towards him.

Jessica wilted. Without even realizing it, she shook her head just a fraction. Suddenly, she was locked with too much apprehension. She couldn’t get her legs to move. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest it was beginning to hurt. She’d been excited, at first— the instant she realized she was going to go back in she had been nothing but excited and eager. Now, faced with the actual opportunity, she was swamped with so much fear and indecision that she could do nothing but hesitate, and stare. Suddenly, she wondered whether or not she could even do it. She didn’t think she could. Not in this silence. Now when she knew he couldn’t even bring himself to look at her.

Gabrielle smiled encouragingly and nodded again, mouth a silent: ‘Go on.’

Jessica felt her stomach twist and tighten as she looked back at her son. Her beaten, starved, terrified son. Her heart split even more down the middle, but she tried to push it down. She hung on as tight as she could to her composure as she forced herself to walk closer. Each step was slow and hesitant— she was trying to walk on glass without making so much as a single sound. Malcolm didn’t look up, but once she walked close enough for him to notice, he was tensing and ducking his head more. Even more anxiety crowded his stare, which she hadn’t even thought was possible. She flashed Gabrielle one last unsure look— but when all she got was yet another nod, Jessica steeled herself and turned back around.

“Malcolm…” He squeezed his eyes shut when she said his name— like she’d shouted, and yet all it had been was a small, gentle murmur. Pain sliced her chest when she caught the harsh flinch, but she tried not to let herself focus on it. She walked until she was at his bedside. When he saw her begin to crouch down, he was flinching away again. This time, a tiny choke died in his throat. She crouched down low, so that if his eyes _were _open, they would instantly meet hers.

With him not looking for the time being, she allowed herself to break. For her expression to crumble and her eyes to water as she looked at all his injuries— as she watched him tremble, like she posed an actual threat to him. Her eyes watered and her lips began to shake, before she forced herself to regain her composure. She cleared her throat, dabbing at her eyes quickly and forcing that smile back into place, however much it hurt her lips to do so. “Malcolm…sweetheart…” she breathed, and his arm jerked upward, as though he was wanting to throw his blanket back over him. She struggled on, praying for the right words so that he wouldn’t. “Malcolm, it’s _Mom_…Mother’s here…”

She started to reach out and then froze…and then started to reach out again only to lose her nerve once more. She was too doubtful, too unsure of herself. She remembered the last time she had tried to touch him. He’d been terrified. He’d punched her blindly, stuck in an unthinking flight-or-fight mode. She didn’t want to upset him like that again. And yet the very same second she thought this to herself, she was reaching for him again. This time, she didn’t stop. Gabrielle was watching closely. Her eyes flashed, but she made no comment as she watched Jessica in silence.

She reached out and lightly set her hand against his cheek. The instant she touched him, he was jerking away with the sharpest flinch yet. He cringed and yelped, automatically expecting the touch to hurt him. Her eyes rushed to fill with another surge of water. But she didn’t give up. Going just a slowly, she laid her hand against his face gradually— first only with her fingertips, then her fingers, then her palm. He flinched again, but his yelp was quieter this time, and less panicked. He still shook like he expected her to hit him, but she just kept her touch gentle, smoothing out her hand until it rested on his cheek all the way.

He continued to cringe and breathe hard for a couple more seconds, still braced for whatever blow he was under the impression he would receive. But as the seconds dragged by and she kept her hand there soothingly, his fast breathing started to stutter and taper. He kept his eyes shut but her heart skipped a beat when she saw him start to relax. His muscles unclenched and his grip on the root beer sucker Gabrielle had given him got looser, too. His breathing wasn’t as rushed and tense. She was sure not to even twitch a single muscle as he slowly came around. As he slowly realized she wasn’t going to harm him.

Eventually, he got himself to open his eyes. Everything inside her was screaming and jumping for joy, but somehow, on the outside, she remained neutral. She watched as he blinked a couple of times, before he lifted his eyes to hers. She could read his intimidation, by her proximity— at first, she thought that would upset him and he would shut down. But it didn’t. He was scared and tensed just a little bit, but he didn’t move away. He looked down awkwardly towards her hand, just looking confused. Like he knew the touch was there but it wasn’t connecting, somehow.

She dared to speak. Her voice was no more than a whisper. “Malcolm…” He jerked again, so sharply and suddenly that she almost jumped too. Thankfully, she stayed where she was. Her son’s eyes yanked themselves back to her. His breath caught and got a little faster. Terrified eyes met her soft ones. She smiled, doing everything she could to hide the horrible pain this was causing her. “Hello…” She ended up murmuring the first thing that came to mind. It turned out to be this. Just a simple ‘hello.’ Probably stupid in hindsight, and yet somehow it seemed to be the most fitting, when she considered that this was the first time he was looking at her – actually, _really _looking at her – for the first time in over a year.

He said nothing. He just kept staring at her. Breathing still fast.

She swallowed hard, finding that the longer they held one another’s gaze, the hotter her throat was becoming. When she kept talking, she found that her voice was growing thicker. “Oh, Malcolm…” He blinked fast at his name. She was trying to read his face, to try and tell what he was thinking, but it was impossible. Slowly, she began to draw her thumb back and forth— he looked down fast towards her hand again, but stayed still, otherwise. “My darling…I missed you…I missed you _so _much…”

Her smile was growing waterier. “I’m— …Malcolm, I’m _so…so _sorry that we didn’t—” She broke off. Gabrielle had slowly paced around the bed so that she could stand on the other side of it, where Malcolm was facing less. As Jessica started to say this, she was fast to start shaking her head. She said nothing, but there was enough warning on her face to make her meaning clear. She stopped at once, biting back on her apology and struggling to reel it back. She didn’t want to. She _wanted_ to apologize to her son— she never wanted to _stop _apologizing to him, because she never _deserved _to. But in hindsight, Gabrielle was right. It would be too much, right now.

Right now, they just needed to focus on getting her son back.

Everything else would come later.

So she abandoned that effort, and went back to her other one, getting that smile back. “But I’m here now…I’m right here…” Something broke in the back of his eyes. She saw that they were beginning to fill with tears. She softened, her voice getting even gentler. “You’re okay, sweetheart…everything’s okay…” His hyperventilating began to get louder. But she shook her head, continuing to stroke his cheek. “I’m right here…and I _promise…_I _swear to you…_that I will _never _let _anyone _hurt you ever again.” A tear fell down her cheek, and her voice trembled. It wasn’t worth trying to pretend she wasn’t crying. “I’m going to keep you safe,” she whispered. “I promise…you’re safe now…”

He searched her face, like he was looking for a lie. His lips were shaking more, the more his eyes teared up. His right arm twitched, lifting just a little off the bed before dropping again. She could _see _his inner debate of whether or not he could move. Hesitantly, he started to reach up for her hand, where it was still resting. She watched carefully, making absolutely no sudden movements, as if he was a butterfly and she was trying not to spook it away. The second he touched her wrist, his hand yanked back a little, as if her touch had burned him. It took everything in her not to jump, and remain still.

The distress on his face was growing just a little. But in tiny, barely-there increments, he touched her again. His hand trembled violently as he got himself to actually keep his fingers against her skin. From there, it took him another handful of seconds to change and lay his hand on top of hers. She beamed, when he did. When he brought himself to touch her and didn’t have to yank away. He twitched and cringed a little, but his hand stayed put. Holding her to him.

Her chest constricted, but the smile on her face was wide and radiating nothing but happiness and relief. “That’s it…” she murmured, gently and lovingly. His grip on her tightened when she spoke, and it looked like he was fighting the urge to flinch away. He was so jumpy…the _smallest _of things had him recoiling. She had to be careful. “You’re alright…”

He opened his mouth, like he was going to say something. Her heart immediately stopped, at just the simple _notion _of him saying _anything _to her. She found herself leaning a little closer, her breath catching as she waited. But nothing came. His mouth closed, and then opened again. He was teetering right on the _edge _of speech, but he couldn’t actually get anything out— not yet. Her heart broke, when she saw how hard he was trying. She wondered how long he had gone without talking, before now, when he was with that monster. Had he gone _months_, not saying a single word? Just screaming and crying? Was _that _why it was so difficult for him just to say anything?

It hurt her immensely, but she gave him time, knowing he needed to work it out himself. But she did smile encouragingly. Eventually, it came. His voice was small, and his throat was beyond hoarse. His voice sounded like sandpaper, but it was still _his. _“Where…’m I…?” he breathed out, every individual word trembling. He sounded confused. But more than that, he sounded so _scared. _So desperate. “Where’s…_he?” _That question barely made it out. It was nothing more than a terrified whimper.

She had to bite down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from breaking down. She felt her heart tear right down the middle. Looking at him – seeing the fear written on his face, and _hearing _it in his voice – she had no idea what to say. Her mouth ran dry, and her mind turned up blank. Her eyes flickered up to Gabrielle, once again, begging her for help. But Gabrielle didn’t offer anything; she just stared back at her levelly, her expression somber.

Jessica took in a deep breath, trying to speak around the thickness in her throat. She did her best to keep her smile, and not let her lips shake too much. “It’s…it’s okay…Malcolm,” she murmured. “He’s— he’s not here,” she explained. He looked even more confused. “You’re in the hospital, Malcolm…we _found _you, we got you _out _of there.” He opened his mouth and she stopped for a moment, waiting for him to speak and praying that he would. But no. He bit it back again. She tried not to feel disappointed.

“You’re….” Her voice was too thick to use. She had to clear her throat. She reached up to hold to the other side of his face, cradling him in both her hands now. He gasped again— this time it was more broken and splintered. It caught in his throat, like all of a sudden his lungs forgot how to work. “You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re far away from him,” she whispered. His eyebrows were knitting together, like she was saying something completely ridiculous and he was fighting the urge to call her out on her nonsense. “You’ll never see him again— he will _never _hurt you again. I _promise.”_

For a while it was silent as he just stared at her blankly. Trying to put puzzle pieces together that, to him, didn’t even seem to make the same photo. She thought it wouldn’t compute. She dreaded his confusion staying— of him not being able to feel safe purely because he couldn’t understand the concept of it anymore. But then something changed in the back of his eyes. They were still crowded with doubt and fear, and she had yet to see that flash of recognition that she had been aching for ever since he’d first woken up and acted as though they were all strangers. It wasn’t that. But it _was _something.

A sense of understanding. However small, and hesitant.

His lower lip started to shake, and his grip on her tightened. She watched, her heartbreaking, as he started to crumble. As his eyes closed and his head ducked, and his fast breathing began to break. She cringed as he started to cry, harsh and grating sobs. He clung to her hand and held it hard against his face, like he needed the pain to know that she was actually there. That this was _actually _happening. He didn’t say anything else, but it was all there to hear in his voice. She heard all his pain, all his sorrow. Inside every sob, there was a year’s worth of torture and loneliness there that couldn’t possibly be put into words.

She closed her eyes, cringing deeply as she had to listen. All she did was scoot a little closer and hold his face a little more securely. “Shhh…” She forced her voice to work, knowing that he needed to hear it. That he needed to hear that she was there. “It’s okay…I know…I _know_, darling…” He clung to her, only crying harder. She held him through it all, keeping her hands against his cheeks. Adding just enough pressure— not hurting him, but making sure he knew that she was there. And that from now on, she wasn’t going to go anywhere.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“He’s awake.” The words were flat. No expression in them at all.

But there was nothing but elation, in his. “He is?” Martin demanded. She could hear the smile in his voice. She’d memorized that smile. It used to be so infectious…it used to make her immediately beam, right back, just by seeing it. Now, just _hearing _the smile in his voice was enough to want her to become ill. Whether it was from sheer rage or sorrow, Jessica wasn’t sure. All she knew was that the instant he began to speak, she felt her throat become hot and thick. “That’s fantastic! That’s _great _news, _oh, _what a relief! My boy is alright!” Her grip on the phone became tighter. “Well— go on, tell me how he is! Is he talking, has he said anything? Has he asked about me?”

“Why on _earth _would he ask about you?” she demanded hotly, surprising even herself.

“I…he doesn’t _have _to,” Martin blustered after a pause. Jessica opened her mouth to snap something else, but he was already rushing on. “But…well I would have _hoped _he’d miss me at least a _little _bit, after all this time! I know _I’ve _missed him!” She flares again. It only gets worse the longer he continues. “He hasn’t asked for me, then…well, that’s alright! It’s…only to be expected, of course. Well— is he awake right now? Put him on— let me talk to him!”

She gnashed her teeth together. She looked back into the room. She’d stepped out for now. Malcolm had fallen back asleep. He’d spent the last three hours tense and shaking under the blankets, refusing to stick his head out more than a couple inches. She’d talked to him quietly every so often and once he’d get used to hearing her voice – he’d always jumped, when she’d first begin to speak – he would shake a little bit less like he was glad to hear there was someone there. But she hadn’t been able to touch him again. She had tried, and he had ducked away from her, a terrible, heart-wrenching squeak of fear ripping itself out of him and winding her so much that she didn’t have the bravery to try it more than the once.

He hadn’t spoken back to her. He hadn’t looked at her more than sparing a couple rare, very quick glances. He’d stayed under his blanket, gripping the root beer sucker in his right hand like it was something precious he had to keep away from her. The only reason she’d eventually realized he’d fallen asleep was when she’d noticed he’d stopped shaking. She had no idea how he had found the peace required to fall asleep, but at some point he’d stumbled across it. She hoped he stayed asleep…he needed his rest.

She inhaled quickly, turning away from her son’s room. “He’s sleeping now,” she said stiffly.

Martin made a noise like he was confused. “Huh. Well, then you picked an _awfully strange time _to call and tell me this,” he pointed out.

She hesitated, biting her lower lip as she watched the hall clock tick past the seconds. She gathered up all the courage and firmness she knew she would need, before she said: “You’re not going to speak to him.” Already, she heard him start to argue, so she swept on, talking over him. “You are not going to speak to him, or make _any _kind of contact with him. Malcolm needs time to _heal._ I’ve been telling him for _years _to cut contact with you, but now I am putting my foot down for good. He _cannot _have your involvement, right now. _Not _while he is trying to recover.”

“He’s _my son, too, Jessica,” _Martin growled, his voice already beginning to drip with anger. “You _cannot _tell him he can’t have a relationship with me— what are you going to tell him? Are you going to tell him that he can’t call his father? Can’t _talk _to his father, after a _year _of being away?” She was seething, grinding her teeth so hard it hurt. “Malcolm just spent a _year _in hell, and you’re going to tell him he can’t talk to me if that’s what he wants to do? Are you actually going to—?”

_“He was picked because of you, do you know that?” _Jessica suddenly hissed. It rendered Martin silent at once. Her eyes were burning but they weren’t tears of sorrow. They were tears of pure anger. The emotion clouded her voice completely as it dropped to a low snarl. “He was taken by that man in the first place because of his past, _because his past was difficult, because his past was ‘tragic’— because of you! _If you had never done what you did – if you had cared about your son at _all _– then we wouldn’t even be _in this situation! You _are the reason he was taken, _you _are the reason he was hurt, _you _are the reason behind _every single one of his injuries, _and you are the reason _my_ son has to build himself back up from rock bottom!

“So _yes, _Martin, I _am _going to keep him from calling you! I am going to keep him from calling you because I am going to _make sure _he lives past what you have done to him, _just like I did the last time. Just like I always do. _Malcolm is _my _son, and you will have _no further contact with him, _because _every time you do, you just ruin his life a little bit more.”_

“Jessica…” His voice was beginning to drip with the same kind of rage. “You _know _that—”

“Don’t you _dare _tell me what I know,” she spat. “And don’t you _dare _contact my family after this. I already made my mistake: I already wasn’t there to protect him. I let him get hurt for an entire _year…_because I wasn’t able to do anything for him. Now I am. And I _am _going to keep him safe from now on; that _includes _from _you.”_

_“Jessica, you can’t do this, you think you have any of the right to—!?”_

She hung up. And when the phone immediately rang after she did, she shut it off.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She was running. She’d wrapped up everything with work as fast as she possibly could, and was out the door before anyone could even ask her what was wrong. She wouldn’t have had the time to explain, anyway. There was _nothing _wrong. Nothing at all was wrong— in fact, the thing that had her sprinting to her car and practically peeling out of the parking lot was the fact that for the first time in forever, she was beginning to feel like things could actually be _right, _for a change.

Her mother had called her ages ago. She’d sounded so tearful, that at first, Ainsley had leaped to the worst possible situation. She was dreading anything from her brother freaking out again, to him flatlining again. She was kicking herself for not staying, like she’d wanted to. Especially when Gil and Jessica had made the decision to call in Gabrielle. She would rather have stayed to wait anxiously with them for what would come out of it, but she’d had to go to work. She couldn’t complain; given the entire situation and how many days work had already allowed her to take, she knew she should be thankful regardless. But it hadn’t stopped her from feeling anything but resentment. She’d stayed last night just in case something happened, and had woken up at three in the morning in order to make it back on time, throwing a regretful look over her shoulder at her brother when she had.

All day she’d been wondering what she was missing, so the very second she heard her mom’s voice and heard how choked up she was, she was kicking herself for ever thinking leaving would be a good idea. But once her mom had started to explain, her panic was leaving, and instead, the weight of anxiety that had been crushing her ribcage the entire day finally lifted. Her mother told her about Gabrielle’s visit, and she was immediately over the moon. She’d said he was still confused, but he was actually _reacting _to her, now. He was still tense and skittish, but he wasn’t lashing out and yelling.

It was a small step, but it was _something. _

And she prayed that by the time she got there, he would have taken a couple more.

She floored it the entire way to the hospital and when she got there, she took the stairs. She didn’t even have the patience to wait for the elevator. She ran up the four flights, and once she reached the unit she tore for her brother’s room. She was surprised to see her mother standing in the hall, waiting for her. Ainsley slowed, as Jessica met her in the middle. Her mother was wearing a smile that was immediately spreading to her face. “How’s he doing?” she puffed, out of breath from all her rushing. She looked past her mother, trying to catch sight of him. “Has he gotten any better? Has he said anything?”

“He’s _so _much better,” she gushed, and Ainsley’s smile tripled in size. Her mother had to take a moment to breathe before she could continue. “He…is _still_…very quiet and— scared, _but!” _she was quick to rush on. “He is _much _more responsive!”

She was brightening slower, now. “So…is he…did he recognize you?” she ended up getting out.

Her mother’s smile started to fade. Hers followed suit. “I’m…he isn’t…quite there yet, I don’t think.” Ainsley wilted, looking back towards his room. “He’s…very frightened, still. The— I spoke to the doctor, he…said he just needed more time. That…this type of thing is…very normal. He said it was…post-traumatic amnesia.” She wasn’t smiling anymore. That heaviness was back in her eyes. “Given…how much he went through, he said that— that this was to be expected.”

“Amnesia?” she echoed hollowly.

“He…said it’s very common. That it…that it usually doesn’t last _too _long. He said that…we just need to be patient with him. That…memory and…and _personality, _and _rationality…_that will be very difficult for him to sort through. Properly. Which…I guess we already knew…” She trailed off for a moment. Before she shook herself and revived her smile, if only slightly. “But he’s _awake,” _she pressed. “And we’re going to help him through this.” Ainsley nodded fast, already ready to dash off again. Her mother put her hand on her shoulder, delaying her. “Just…be very careful,” she cautioned. “Don’t…_rush _anything. We can’t lose what ground we’ve already gained.”

“Where’s Gil?” she asked. The thought just occurred to her.

Jessica hesitated; when she answered, her voice was careful and guarded. “He went home.” Ainsley did a double-take. “Gabrielle…said it would be wise to just have us with him, at first. Once he gets used to us again, then…we can introduce everyone else back. But, until then…” Ainsley’s disappointment and confusion must have been evident on her face. “It shouldn’t take _all _that long,” she tried weakly. “But…he’s _tired, _and he’s in _so much _pain…right now he just needs rest anyway, and he can barely have that with the nurses coming in and out like they do. That’s already almost too much for him. We have to go slow. That’s what Gabrielle said, and I don’t see any reason that isn’t our best option.”

Ainsley’s disappointment stayed, but she didn’t argue. She couldn’t come up with a counterpoint either. She just knew that Gil must have been very upset to be asked to leave. He certainly wouldn’t have volunteered it, anyway. She hesitated for a moment, caught up on the thought. But then she shook herself out of it. She needed to see her brother; she could think about everything else later. She just nodded. The second her mother was taking her hand back, Ainsley was starting for his room again.

Her chest caved in with pain when she saw her brother. He was awake, and the blanket was still pulled up over his head. Her heart was quick to begin to fall. But her mother walked inside and skirted around her. She approached the bed with much more readiness than she usually had. She crouched down and gently put her hand on the mattress, just close enough so he would feel the shift in pressure, but not have her actually touch him.

“Malcolm…” His flinch was so sharp, they could see it through the blankets. Ainsley’s eyes rounded out with hurt. Jessica wilted too, but she stayed collected. She just inched out, to drum one finger gently against the sheets that were over him. “Malcolm…” When he still did nothing, she cautiously grabbed the blanket and pulled down. She went slow. Malcolm’s panic was quick to spike, when he felt the change, but she went fast, and only uncovered him down to the chin. She put on a smile for him. “Your sister’s here…”

Ainsley’s heart was in her throat. Malcolm’s breathing was just the tiniest bit fast. His pupils were blown out wide with all the fear that was in them. But he didn’t yank the blanket back up, and Jessica’s words actually seemed to connect. She went stiff when his eyes flickered to her. The glance was fast. But it was _everything_, too. He was scared and tense and on-edge, but when her brother finally – _finally _– looked at her and _stayed _looking at her, she was instantly lighting up. She beamed, when his eyes found hers. At first, she was too happy to even speak. When she eventually got her wind back, she stuttered out the first thing she could think of. “Hey…it’s about _time _you woke up…” Her smile quirked into more of a smirk.

_God, _did she miss teasing her older brother…

He stared at her, searching her face for a split moment, before he was inhaling sharply through his nose, flinching all of a sudden from seemingly nothing. But as soon as the thought passed through her mind, Ainsley realized how stupid it was. Malcolm was one giant injury. A mess of bruises that were just now beginning to fade and become less noticeable, but a myriad of other, much more severe injuries. Thankfully, since he had slept so long he’d probably slept right through the worst of the pain…the slices on his face and throat had gotten their stitches taken out already.

His surgery sites were likely still putting him in a world of pain; she wasn’t sure about his ankles or his arm, but she knew they both were still on the mend. The pain that wrote itself on his face was testament enough to the fact that whatever it was that was the source, it was agony. Her brother flinched and choked, his entire body locking up defensively as he hyperventilated through clenched teeth. Jessica stood back up, her eyes widening. “What’s wrong?” she asked, stupidly. She tried to fix it, bending down a little more. “What’s wrong, honey? What’s hurting you?”

His flinch stayed. He took in another gasping couple breaths before he choked out the best thing he could. “…Hurts…!” It was the first time Ainsley had heard him say anything at all, but the instant he did it was breaking her heart. His voice was so small and scared— the pain was so palpable in his voice it nearly took her breath away. She could practically _feel_ all his agony. The second he was crying this out, her foundations were crumbling. Her face fell, as she stared at her brother. He wasn’t even able to actually answer their mom’s question.

Jessica grew even more pained. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she whispered, her voice laden with guilt and sorrow. She glanced back at Ainsley. “Can you flag the nurse down? He’s due for more morphine…”

She nodded a couple of times, but she didn’t dash off right away. She hesitated, lingering in the room as she looked at her brother. His eyes stayed shut, his forehead creased deeply, like he was suffering through torment all over again. His jaw was locked back and though it looked like he would rather let it all out in screams, he was clearly bottling everything back, forcing his lips to stay closed. His right hand was curled into a tight fist. As he went stiff with pain, he started to hit against the mattress in that same way he had, before. He cringed even deeper and a terrible whimper escaped him.

Her mother scooted until she was right beside his bed. Before all this, she would probably have recoiled from the very _thought_ of touching the floor of a hospital. With all the germs and who-knows-what that might have once been on there, it wouldn’t have even been in the realm of possibility. But now, without hesitation, she was kneeling so she could be close to her son. The second her fingers were touching his forehead he was cringing away; but he didn’t _pull _away. And he still stayed motionless, as her mother started to draw her fingers soothingly back and forth there, tracing the injuries that were forming into scars.

She kept smoothing her fingertips back and forth. Gradually, he began to relax. Or, as much as he could relax, given the situation. Ainsley’s heart stopped in her chest when he actually responded to her. His breathing stayed shallow and punctured every so often with whimpers. But his shoulders started to relax. He deflated slowly— ever so slowly. He didn’t open his eyes. But he turned his head.

Ainsley’s chest burned like someone was holding a match to it. Her eyes started to prick with pain, and all the colors in her vision were beginning to smear, as she watched her brother let his head fall to the side. As he leaned into their mother’s touch, instead of recoiling away from it. He let his head drop and though the ghost of pain stayed on his face, his breathing started to slow. His whimpers grew quieter. He didn’t relax all the way, but he _did_ relax. Which was good. Not only because it meant he was coming around. It was good because she knew he deserved it.

Her brother had fought and fought for an entire year, to get back to them.

So when she saw him untense and let out a shaking sigh as her mother kept running her fingers over his forehead and back through his hair, she felt nothing but relief so strong it made her start shaking.

It made her heart break all over again. But at least this time, it was with happiness.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was dark. Winston had left Malcolm on the floor, in a heap. He’d lasted for a long time through the beating he’d put him through, but a well-aimed kick in the center of his stomach had done the trick and he’d finally passed out. From there, Winston lost interest. He’d left but the camera was left to roll like it always was by this point in the tapes. JT fast-forwarded through it, watching Malcolm closely. He was unconscious for hours. Only twitching or shifting every so often. The sun went down and the basement got darker. It wasn’t for four hours, when seven o clock was just beginning to roll into eight, did Malcolm rouse.

When he did, it took him ages to get himself to turn. It took even longer for him to start speaking. It was so dim that at first, JT didn’t even realize his mouth was moving. He didn’t anticipate him _saying _anything. When he finally realized he was, he quickly pressed play again, his forehead creasing with confusion. “…want to, but you guys will say no…” His voice was the tiniest whisper, hoarse, coming out of a too-dry throat. “Which…I apprec—” JT started rewinding it. This time, when he pressed play again, he watched as Malcolm struggled to turn onto his side. He listened through the silence that followed, waiting this time for what he knew was going to eventually come.

And it did. Weak and thin, he started to speak out loud to the empty room. “I’ve been…trying to figure out which one of you will get the job,” he breathed out. JT’s frown worsened. He crossed his arms, leaning against the desk so he could get closer to the screen. As if that would help him figure out what he was meaning. “Because someone will _have _to…I guess.” He broke off, hunching over and coughing into his elbow. His voice was even weaker and more brittle with pain when he was able to continue. “You could hand it off to someone else…but I don’t think you will. Not after everything.”

JT did a double-take, his eyes rounding out a little when he finally realized.

Malcolm wasn’t talking to the empty room. He was talking to the camera.

He was talking to _them._

His voice was light— or, as light as he could _get_, all things considered. It didn’t match the words that came out of his mouth. “No…the job of watching all these will go to _one _of you. The question is, which one…which, I think I worked out. I don’t seem to have much else to do, here...” He laughed. It was a bitter one. There was a long stretch of silence before he picked up again, his barely-audible voice even softer, becoming thoughtful. “Gil will want to watch them,” he announces. Something in JT’s stomach twists. “He’ll probably insist, at first. If I know him…and I think I do…he’ll fight. He’s stubborn. Like he always tells me _I_ am.” He had to stop and cough again.

“But no…” he wheezes, once he’s through. “He won’t get the job, in the long run. You guys will know better. He’ll _want_ to, but you guys will say no…” There’s another long pause. His voice was more choked when he gets out a weak: “Which…I appreciate. I don’t…want him to…” He blanks. Again, there’s silence. JT’s hands are clenching into tight fists, by now. He didn’t even notice the way his nails were biting into his palms. When Malcolm starts speaking again, he moves on. He leaves behind whatever thought it was that had stopped him, to something that was safer.

“Dani…she’s harder…” JT’s teeth were beginning to grind together. He felt the rage he felt when he had to watch Winston beat Malcolm to a pulp begin to return bit by bit. At first, he wasn’t sure why. But then the realization dawned. “She might say she can do it…she might try to insist. She might even watch _some_…but she won’t watch mine.” He was doing that thing he always did— that super annoying thing JT hated where he started thinking out loud and never shut up. Only now, he was doing it _here. _About _this._

For some reason, it was making him sick.

“She won’t be able to watch mine.” Bright was barely speaking by now. “She tries to keep people at arm’s-length…and I don’t…” He had to stop and clear his throat. But it still cracked a little when he continued. “I don’t know how much she really liked me…I _like_ to think…she did. Genuinely. But…” In this silence, his small sniff seemed earsplitting. But if you didn’t catch that, then the tears that choked his voice were plain enough when he struggled to carry on. “But…if she _did, _then…then she won’t want to watch, either. Which…is good.” He sniffed again. He wiped his eyes. “It’s good…” he repeated even quieter.

He started crying, and for a handful of seconds, that was all he could do. He tried to keep it subtle but JT still heard his sniffs. It was twisting his stomach into even more knots— he was going to start fast-forwarding again, just because he couldn’t continue to listen, but right before he could, Malcolm took in a quick, puncturing breath, and seemed to steel himself. He cleared his throat and wiped both eyes again, shaking his head as if he could shake off all his emotions. He forced his voice to get more back to normal. “So, JT, that…leaves you! Congratulations...” He stiffened, at his name. He should have realized where this was going. But his stomach was still dropping— he was still straightening in surprise when Malcolm addressed him. Unknowingly, but…knowingly at the same time.

“You’re the best person to ask to do to the job…which…may or may not be a personal insult.” He was trying to tease again, but especially after his crying spell, it was even weaker. “But you’re not…_attached.” _JT’s jaw set back. “Even if, by some stroke of…_something _you were…you’d never actually admit it. You’d…be the best option, out of everyone assigned to the case…so…I bet it’s you, who’s watching, right now. You’d be the most able to…sit through it…” He turned his head towards the camera. He saw his eyes catch the light, simply because they were filled with so much water. “Sorry you got stuck with it,” he murmured, sounding sincere. “I bet it’s a crappy job…I guess I might as well do…_one last _thing to…_bother _you, right?” He started to laugh, but it broke into a coughing fit instead.

He sounded winded when he was through. For a while it was silent as he just stared at the camera. Something changed. His voice was ragged, but it was swamped with sudden sorrow. “JT, I…know we’re not…I know you never really liked me,” he whispered. “I know I always rubbed you the wrong way…which is fine…I don’t blame you. But…” Those tears were creeping back into his words. “But if I could just…ask you to do something for me…just…one last…thing…” JT was practically gouging into his own hands by now. It was taking everything in him to keep his emotions in check. Especially when Malcolm forced himself to get out these next few croaks.

“Just…make sure…just make sure they don’t see it, too,” he pleaded weakly. “I don’t— I don’t want…them to remember me…like…I don’t want them to remember me like this, JT.” Everything in him was screaming at him to pause the video. To pause the damn video and pick up the computer and throw it to the ground. To stomp on it and somehow destroy it – destroy _everything _– so _nobody_ would ever see them again. _Including _him. But he was frozen. Listening as Malcolm started to break down more and more. “I don’t want…_any…_of this to be how they remember me.

“And my— my family, too,” he started to sob. “I…I _know…_that if you _ever _find these videos, and it _does _make its way to you, and you _are _the one watching them…I know you’ll have to show them to a— a judge, or— …but _please, JT, _don’t let anyone else see them…don’t let them see me like this. Don’t let them know what…” He stopped, breaking into yet another coughing fit. This time every sharp inhale was crumbling into small squeaks of pain. All of which stayed to color his words once he got them again. “Please, if…if you could just— do that for me, I know you don’t owe me anything but— please…”

For a couple seconds, all there was to hear, was his soft crying.

At some point, his weeping stuttered.

He started to laugh, instead.

His face broke into a huge smile— his hitching breaths flipped on a dime, to change into gasping giggles. JT’s face fell. A pit opened up in his stomach, as Malcolm laughed louder, laughed longer, shaking his head as he reached up to press his hands to his forehead. It was as if someone had just told him the funniest joke in the world. His voice was a terrible mix of sorrow and hilarity when he suddenly declared between his laughter: “And after all this— _I _still_ don’t know your name!”_ Once he forced this out, his snickering only lasted for a couple more seconds. It wasn’t long before he was crumbling again. Before he was breaking down and his giggles were chipping away into sobs, which were even louder than before. He curled up into a ball. The chain that was locking him to the ground scraped loudly against the stone. Filling up the room just as much as his sobs did.

JT felt numb and enraged at the same time. All he could do at first was stare.

But a noise directly beside him dragged his mind back. Reminded him what was going on.

He turned and looked at her, trying to open his mouth to say something. Anything.

But he knew, looking at Dani and seeing the tears streaming down her face, that there was nothing.

Nothing he could say would fix any of this.

And nothing he could do could take away the stinging in his own eyes.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The Stepdown unit had more hallways; they had actual walls, not just plates of glass. If they wanted to, they could shut the door and effectively block out noise or the light of the hallways. That was good; that meant Malcolm would be able to rest easier. And here, the nurses weren’t in and out as much. That part was the best part— the part they knew would be the biggest relief to Malcolm. At least now, there wouldn’t be someone walking in every other second to look at him and poke him and scare him. They had more privacy. More time to try and get him to relax and come back to himself. Hopefully.

When they’d told they were being moved to here from the ICU, Ainsley and Jessica had immediately been lighting up. Resisting the urge to scream with happiness. To jump up and down with joy.

The nurses, of course, had warned that there would still be constant cardiac monitoring with how many issues they’d had with his heart. They warned that this was only one tier below ICU. That he still required close eyes and a lot of medication. But they hadn’t really stopped long enough to listen to that part. They were through with the ‘but’s and the ‘by the way’s. The tiny footnote with their good fortune that warned their luck might run out sooner or later. They’d decided that this time, they were just going to be happy. That they were going to focus on the positives.

Malcolm was moving to the Stepdown Unit. Away from the Intensive Care Unit.

That meant he was getting better.

The room was the tiniest bit smaller. It was alright. Jessica usually ended up falling asleep at Malcolm’s bedside anyway. There wasn’t a couch, but when the nurses had seen how distraught Ainsley had been, they’d kindly gotten them an extra recliner that they set up in the corner. She’d spend her nights awkwardly crammed into it, all tangled and hunched in order to fit but falling asleep immediately anyway, just because she was so exhausted.

She’d done it last night, and like clockwork, she woke up with the same stiff neck and back. The first thing she did was grimace, as she moved to stretch and the effort was immediately earning her a large amount of pain. It was only her third day sleeping like this and yet she still wasn’t used to it. Not that she had a choice or anything. Once she realized the room was much brighter, she started to wake up a little more. She slowly began to uncurl, her entire body creaking and whining, and looked at her phone. It was only 7:42. She started to wonder if maybe she should try and go back to sleep, when she looked at Malcolm and straightened.

He was awake. At first she thought he was looking at her— his head was turned towards her, which got her immediately stiffening. But he wasn’t, and even when she woke up and looked back at him, he still didn’t glance at her. He was looking at something past her. Very intently. She was too caught up in studying him, at first. Seeing him, she actually blanked. He didn’t look scared at all. He looked calm. But…he also looked sad, somehow. Empty. He wasn’t shaking, or terrified, but he _was _sorrowful, as he just kept staring.

In his right hand, he was holding onto that root beer sucker. Still.

Ainsley followed his gaze. She wilted when she realized he was staring at the window. They’d vowed to always keep the windows open, after his meeting with Gabrielle. It seemed to help him. They didn’t have the best view. It was just of the parking lot. If you looked a little farther, you saw the highway. But Malcolm was fixated on it as if it was the best view there was to see. She turned back to him, confused and hesitant. She didn’t want to break this moment…he was so calm, right now. If she tried to say anything, was she going to ruin it? Was he going to jump right back into being terrified?

Jessica was still in the chair on his other side. She was slumped over awkwardly, snoring a little into the slice of the mattress he wasn’t occupying. Ainsley looked from her mom to her brother, debating. But the strange sense of clarity on his face was too compelling for her not to try. She spoke quietly, dreading that the instant he would hear her voice, he’d flinch or cry out. “Malcolm…?” She was shocked when he didn’t react at all. He just kept staring. Didn’t even blink. She gathered up the courage to slink over to his bed. He didn’t watch her, and when she sat down on the edge beside him, he _still_ didn’t look. It was like he was entirely disconnected. She was starting to get worried. “Malcolm?”

Finally, he reacted. But it was only to move so his eyes could flicker to her. She stiffened when they did, going through all the worst-case scenarios in her mind. But none of them came. He just stared at her the same way he’d been staring out the window: sadly, and hollowly. Her heart squeezed when he fixed her with this look. He looked upset, and defeated. Like there was no hope left in him. “What’s wrong?” she breathed. She had no idea how lucid he was, or what he was thinking. She couldn’t make out any recognition in his eyes when he looked at her. But what if there was, and she just wasn’t seeing it?

The sorrow on his face grew more, when he just looked back towards the window.

She softened. She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, relieved beyond words when he just looked down slowly at it. He didn’t snap at her or try to shrug her off. “Hey. Malcolm.” He lifted his eyes back up to her. She forced her smile to get bigger. But it was getting more and more pained, the longer she had to see him this way. “What’s wrong?” she repeated.

For a while, he said nothing. But then his lower lip shook— just barely, and only for a second. But she caught it. And she caught the tiny tremor in his voice when he whispered out: “I want to go home.”

The statement punched her in the gut, knocking all the wind out of her. Her eyes widened, and her mouth hung slightly. Of all the things her brother could have said, that was nowhere near her expectations. Her heart twisted like a pretzel. Tears were surprisingly fast to fill her eyes. She made the connection with the window— with the desolate despair that had been on his face.

She tried to force herself to get over the hurdle he’d suddenly thrown at her. She lifted the edges of her lips into a smile that hurt to wear. She tried to keep her voice bright, but it was a horrible attempt. He would see right through it, she knew. If he was the brother she remembered. “You’re in the hospital, Malcolm,” she whispered. “You’re getting better…you have to get better, first. Before that can happen.”

His lower lip shook again, more noticeably this time. His eyes were getting shinier.

Ainsley fought tooth and nail not to follow his head. “Hey…” She grinned, moving so her hand was resting against his neck. His eyes had flickered away, but she leaned so that he had to meet them again. So she could smile, and hope that it looked better than her last attempt had. “You’re okay, Malcolm,” she reassured. “You have me…and you have Mom, too.” His eyes flashed. She leaned a little closer. “We’re both here with you. _We’re _your home…right?”

He was silent, just looking at her. She stared right back.

Such a long time passed, that some part of herself wondered if they would sit like that forever. Just staring blankly, waiting for the other to say something.

Malcolm broke it, though. He turned his head away from her again. He looked back to the window, and this time he didn’t look away. His expression grew even more morose. She started to try and get his attention back again, but before she could, he was mumbling. His words were so soft and his lips barely moved. “I want to go home…” he repeated lowly. Her face fell. She started to open her mouth to try and get it through his head, but she abandoned the thought, just closing it instead. She knew it wouldn’t get through to him. Not right now.

So she took to silence. She left her hand against his neck but she didn’t try to do anything else.

She just turned as well, to stare out the window with him.

Wearing the same exact look of misery he was. For an entirely different reason.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“Four…five…s—…si…x…se—…v—" Malcolm dropped like a weight to the floor. After the third push-up, his arms had started to tremble. Before he could hit seven, they were buckling. He hit the ground with a dull thud and a quiet noise of pain. He grimaced with the effort it took just to roll onto his back. His eyes were bright with pain and disappointment alike. For a while, it was quiet. He just stared off into space, like he often did here. Before he started to grumble. “I can’t even do seven push-ups…how pathetic is _that?” _

His eyes flickered to the camera. He smiled a little. A cynical, bitter smile. But a smile all the same. “JT, I bet you could do like…a _million_ push-ups, I don’t know.” JT’s lips pressed together tightly when Bright started to talk to him as if he was there. He was doing that more and more. It was only November. He had a long way to go. It didn’t sit right with him— Bright talking to him like this. Like he knew. But it was only because he _did _know. Maybe that was what was bothering him so much. “You could definitely do _seven. _You could do seven with me sitting on your back, I think,” he continued to muse. He actually laughed a little.

But the laughter was weak, and when it echoed off the walls and bounced back into him, it made him weaken. He grimaced. His voice was much more disappointed when he repeated: “I cant even do seven push-ups…what does that mean?” He paused, like he was actually waiting for an answer. “It means I’m screwed…” he whispered eventually. JT rubbed his forehead, taking in a deep breath as he leaned on his desk more. “It means…if I’m going to get out of here…it has to be by outsmarting him…’cause I can’t even _outrun _him like this…

“I meant to be better,” he continued to rasp. “I meant to…keep my strength up…so I could…stay ahead of him. But…we said it ourselves…he was smart…he kept drugging me…for weeks…that _started me out _weak…and with the food…” Malcolm grimaced. “I’m so hungry…” This was barely whispered— it was mostly for himself, JT could tell. Even when he spoke again, his voice was softer. “But I’m not…hungry…enough. For that. Yet,” he rasped. JT felt sick.

There were a couple beats of silence. Malcolm raised his hand, clenching and unclenching it as he studied it against the dim light. It was almost five. The sun was going down; soon it’d be pitch black. “It’s cold…” he whispered. His voice was a pathetic kind of wistful as he wondered: “I wonder what day it is…I wonder if it’s snowed, yet…” He let his arm drop with a heavy thud. He looked back at the camera. “I hope they’re giving you a raise, JT; this job must _suck. I’m _bored, _here. _Can’t imagine how bored you must be.” Against himself, JT smirks. Laughs just a little, under his breath. “If you’re thinking of counting the wood paneling, I already beat you to it. Spoiler alert…there’s fifty-two planks. I think.

“Tell Gil I said he needs to give you a raise,” he mumbled. He sat up slowly, but had to stop and grimace through a dizzy spell. Once he was steadier, he started to push himself up to stand. The effort was painstaking and hard just to watch. It took him about a full minute. It took him longer to be able to steady himself _again _and start to try and walk. He was chained at the ankle, and his left leg dragged. But he started to try and limp around, to get at least some movement in his legs.

“Tell him…I said you need a…fifty percent raise,” he wheezed, more out of breath with this minimal activity. Again, it got JT laughing. Malcolm could only take about eleven tiny steps before he was grimacing and giving up. He sat back down, holding himself against the ground by his hands, he was so lightheaded. His voice was shaky. “He’d…probably do it, too. If you…tell him it was my dying wish.” He tried to laugh like he had before, but this joke fell flat. There was nothing to see on his face but pain, despite his smile.

There was a long period of silence. Malcolm’s forced smile fades. His face falls. He studies his hands, like he suddenly can’t bring himself to even look at the camera anymore. “It’s so strange…to think that…I’ll be dead. By the time you watch this…” JT locked his jaw back. After another period of silence, Malcolm forced a smirk back on his face. “Or…who knows. You guys might find me.” It was clear he didn’t believe it. But he said it anyway. “Or…I could get out, myself, somehow. Even though I’ve…seemed to exhaust all the possibilities at my disposal, so far…” He tilted his head back, sighing. He hesitates again, the quiet explaining his anxiety more than any words could, before he whispers: “You think I can get out JT?”

“You did…” He’s answering before he even realizes it. He’s thankful nobody is there to hear him. He knows it’s stupid and yet even with that knowledge, he continues. “You _did _get out…stupid kid.”

Malcolm scoffs. Looks back down at his hands. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he returns.

JT’s chest felt like something was sitting on it.

“But hey…” Malcolm cheers. “Look on the bright side: the longer I’m here, the more time you can spend with your favorite member of the team, watching all these videos. How lucky are you?” He makes himself laugh again. JT finds himself glad that at least he was distracting himself, with this. “Would it make it better if I told you that you were always my favorite person?” Malcolm asks, and JT’s face falls. He straightens up, something tightening in his stomach. But immediately, it passes. “No— sorry, you weren’t my favorite. Not at all. Not even close.” JT deadpans, eyeing him a little reproachfully. But the impulse irritation is fast to go away when he realizes how sad Malcolm suddenly looks. He’s smiling, but there’s nothing but pain, to see. His voice is the softest yet when he murmurs: “Gil was my favorite…he was always my favorite…”

JT thought of Gil, and how exhausted he looked now. How strained. How he paced his office, and the hallways, always texting Jessica for updates every fifteen minutes. How he was about ten times worse when Malcolm has been away. All the sleepless nights, all the unexplained tears that would just spring into his eyes from out of nowhere. The day he’d torn apart their board. He thinks of all of that as he stares at Malcolm’s forlorn, sorrowful look. _His _bags under his eyes, _his _shimmering tears. The same thickness in his voice that always seemed to be in Gil’s voice when he murmured: “Tell him that for me, JT…if you could. Just…that he was my favorite…”

JT sobers. The weight on his chest was only growing.

Malcolm stayed that way for a second. Before he blinked rapidly and sucked in a harsh breath. “I really think you _are _JT,” he announced loudly and abruptly. “And I really kind of _absolutely don’t want you to be JT, _even though I know you are— but if you’re _not _JT and you’re someone else, this is really awkward because I’m gonna keep assuming you’re him this entire time and from the way this is going that’s going to be a _long_ time. So.” This makes him laugh again. Malcolm smiles just a fraction, as if he could hear him. But the smile is quick to go, and so is the last bit of energy he has. He looks towards the stairs, and the expression that crawls over his face gets JT’s blood to a simmer, instead. The fear. The sorrow. The resignation.

“He’ll be coming soon…” Malcolm sighed, turning and lowering himself down to the ground to be on his back again. “I should…probably shut up…” JT thought that would be it. He started for the fast-forwarding button, when right before he could, Malcolm spoke again. Softly, like it’s a secret just between them. “Thanks for talking to me, JT…” His voice seems minuscule in the darkening basement.

JT stops short. Hearing this, and staring at him, the weight on his lungs gets hard enough to smother him. To make breathing impossible.

Yet he still somehow finds the breath to murmur softly out: “You’re welcome…”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

They’d been told everything that could possibly help him. They’d been told the best foods that would help Malcolm gain back all the weight he’d lost, and rebuild all the muscles that had atrophied. The PEG tube was still in place, but now that he was awake they were wanting to wean him off the feedings. If he could get food down and get it to _stay _down, then they could remove the tube. And they would be able to get his weight up a _lot_ faster than they could on the liquid feedings.

They had no idea what he would even want to eat, so they’d just ordered everything. They’d ordered a stir-fry mix of rice and meat that smelled delicious, and a plate of mashed potatoes. They’d ordered a cut of salmon and a cup of yogurt mixed with fruit. They’d ordered a huge strawberry-banana protein smoothie and a just-as-oversized vanilla milkshake. There was a plain bowl of noodles and a plate of mixed, steamed vegetables. There was so much food it hardly fit on his bedside tray, but they made it work. Now, it was all sitting there, just waiting to be picked over. Even a little bit.

But that ‘little bit’ was apparently much harder than they’d expected.

Malcolm was sitting up— they’d elevated the head of the bed so that he could be at the correct ninety-degree angle that would allow him to eat. Except he wasn’t. Malcolm was sitting up but he wasn’t even looking at the food. Instead, he was looking directly off to the side, down at the floor. His head was ducked and his shoulders were hunched. His expression was pinched with severe discomfort and pain; it only got worse in the fervent glances he _did _spare towards the food. Which weren’t often. In his right hand, that sucker was still clenched tight.

They’d been waiting for about ten minutes now, but he still wasn’t so much as reaching out to touch the food. Ainsley was watching anxiously from her chair; her mother was sitting beside him on the edge of the bed. Her gaze was clouded with concern as she looked at her son. She’d tried to give him time if time was what he needed. But ten minutes, and he still wasn’t doing anything.

She leaned a little closer. “Malcolm…” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye but he was fast to look away again. He was stiff, and tense. She knew that if he had the means, he would be throwing himself to his feet and sprinting far away from here. She was cautious when she reached out and put her hand down on top of his right one. He stiffened even more but at least that was it. “Malcolm, you have all this food…I know it’s a lot, but…we need to get your strength back, darling. This will help with that.” He looked at it, absolutely miserable. Again, he couldn’t look at it for very long. But this time Ainsley saw the desperate longing that leaked into his eyes when he saw the arrangement. Her mother caught it, too. “Malcolm, aren’t you hungry?” she pressed. He closed his eyes. “You don’t have to have _all_ of it, sweetheart. Just a _little_ something…”

At first, he did nothing. But then he shook his head, only once and very fast. Still not looking at her.

She weakened. “What’s wrong? Is it…” She looked back at the tray, at all the food and wracking her brain at what could possibly be putting him off. She knew her son wasn’t a fan of many foods as it was; maybe there was something on here he absolutely detested? “Is there something here you don’t like? You can just pick _something, _out of all of this— you could pick out _one thing, _right? To eat?”

The distress on his face was building. She realized it and tried to reel herself back, and not let her worry seep too far out on her face. If _she _started to worry, then Malcolm would see and it would just make him worse. She put her smile back on and made sure her voice was extra sweet when she picked up the smoothie. She held it out for him. If he had to eat anything, this would be the best one to pick. It would be easy on his stomach and it was fortified with protein, too. “How about this?” Malcolm’s eyes flickered to the drink. This time, he stayed staring at it for longer.

She was beginning to hope he would cave_, _but she should have known better. He wrenched his head away again. But this time, before she even really had the chance to feel disappointed, he was mumbling something. His voice was too soft to hear. She leaned a little closer. “What?” He started to hunch away from her, once he realized she was increasing their proximity. “What did you say, Malcolm?”

His voice shook as he whispered just a little louder: “I’m not hungry enough yet…”

She stared at him oddly, sitting with the phrase, unsure of what to do with it. Her forehead creased. “You’re…you’re not hungry?” she repeated, feeling like she was missing something important. But when she looked at her daughter she could see that she wasn’t the only one that was lost. She looked just as befuddled as she felt. “You’re not even…the _tiniest _bit hungry? Just a _little?” _She _knew _he was hungry. She could _see _it, with all his fleeting, longing glances.

His eyes were beginning to water. He looked again, and this time the desperation on his face was plain to see. He looked at the food like he hadn’t eaten in fifteen years. He looked seconds away from crying. She was about to try and calm him down and reassure him it was alright, but he was speaking again in that tiny mumble. He repeated his same exact words; this time, they were weaker. “I’m not…hungry enough yet,” he whimpered. Clearly, it meant something to him— he was only getting more upset the longer he was pressed to explain. But it was lost on them.

“What do you mean?” Jessica struggled. “You don’t…if you just eat a _little, _it’s better than—”

He cringed. “I’m not _hungry_ enough, yet!” He might have shouted this, if his throat wasn’t so raw. All it ended up amounting to was a pitiful squeak. His tears started to fall— a track ran down the side of his face, and as if he felt it and knew there was no use in trying to hide his distress anymore, he let out a tiny, punctured sob. Once the first one escaped, he started to lose track of his breathing. He started to gasp in and out, shoulders moving more and more with every increasingly-desperate gulp.

“I’m— not— I’m not hungry enough it’s not worth it yet!” he started to wail. Jessica’s eyes flew wide, surprise slapping her in the face as she watched him crumble so quickly. She had no idea what he was yelling, or _why_ he was yelling it. Why he was starting to break down and sob, cringing and shaking his head. It was like a switch was flipped. He became so hysterical so quickly, it practically gave her whiplash. “I’m not hungry enough— I can— I can wait I can wait longer, I— I can’t— _I don’t want to— please don’t— please don’t make me— don’t make me eat don’t— I don’t have to yet I— I—!” _He broke off, beginning to hyperventilate and cry too much to be able to speak. All he could do was panic. That terrified, crazed look was back in his eyes. Making him blank.

“Malcolm…Malcolm…_Malcolm!” _Jessica grabbed tightly to his shoulders, trying to steady him.

He tried to wrench away, flinching as more tears streamed down his face. “I’m not hungry enough, I can wait, I— I don’t— _let go, don’t touch me! Don’t touch me please just let me go let me go!”_ The second he started screaming, Jessica was immediately yanking her hands back. The second she did, he stopped thrashing. His heart stayed pounding and his eyes stayed wide, but at least he stilled. He stared down at the blankets, breathing slower and more raggedly. He didn’t look back up. His right arm was up like he was trying to shield himself.

Jessica wilted, reaching out and trying to put her hand down on top of his again. This time, he wrenched away the second she touched him. He tucked his arm against his chest, far away from her. His exhales were trembling, like he’d just run a thousand miles. She blanched, trying to figure out what she should do. Hesitantly, she reached out to his face, put her hand against his cheek. He flinched when he felt her touch, but she was quick to soothe him. “Shhh…shhh…you’re alright…” He was shaking, from head to toe. Tears still streamed down his face. He fell still, still looking down at the blankets. His inhales were hiccupping.

“Okay…it’s okay, honey…” Jessica’s voice was choked. Malcolm sniffed, closing his eyes tightly. But he let her keep touching him. He let her wipe all his tears away. “You don’t have to eat…” There was nothing but sorrow and disappointment in her voice, but she gave up anyway. She knew when enough was enough. “You don’t have to eat right now if you don’t want to…we can save it all.” There was no relief to be seen, on his face. He stayed tense and scared, keeping his eyes averted.

Jessica kept wiping his cheeks. She wanted nothing more to wrap her arms around him and hold her in her arms. To rock him and calm him down, and make him feel okay again. But she couldn’t. She knew that it would do more harm than good. She knew that her son would just continue to hurt, like he was now. She knew he was hurting. And she knew that she had no idea _why _he was.

She had no idea what she had done wrong, to upset him so much.

And because of that…she had no idea how she was supposed to _help_ him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

All he heard, was crying. Sobbing, screaming, begging, pleading— each screech more inhuman and desperate than the last. He couldn’t run or move or do _anything_; all he could do was stand there and listen. There seemed to be nothing in front of him, but at the same time, JT saw flashes and instances of things he knew were there— that was happening right in front of him. They were all things he had seen on those tapes— had had to sit through and force himself to watch. Each came back to him with startling clarity, almost as if he was seated back in front of his laptop, pressing play. They were fast, and fleeting. But it didn’t matter. It was all there.

He saw Winston pinning Malcolm down, yanking his teeth out one by one. He saw him holding him down, ignoring his screeching and begging as he continued to rain blow after blow down on his already-bloody face. He saw a flash of him grabbing his hand and yanking his fingers back, breaking each one with a sickening cracking noise. He was choking him until he was blue in the face, he was kicking in his ribs until he heard two of them snap, he was kicking his head in but no matter how many times he did, Malcolm kept screaming, never able to reach the safety that unconsciousness would provide him.

He listened to all of it, trying everything he could to move. But something was holding him back.

He fought and fought, trying to do anything he could to break free. To scream back to him that it was okay— that he was going to be okay, that he was on his way. Or that was what he thought he was yelling, anyway. He couldn’t even hear himself over Malcolm’s howling, bouncing off the walls to come back and punch him in the gut.

He thought he would be stuck like that forever, when all of a sudden, whatever was holding him in place was gone. He staggered forward, once his attempts became actual reality. It took a split second for him to recover— to catch himself, and realize what had happened. But once the dots connected, JT was taking off in a sprint. He ran for the door in front of him and the very second he’d thrown it open he was running down the steps, practically half-tripping. The screaming grew louder and louder, but the second he hit the floor, the horrible noise suddenly screeched to a stop. Complete silence replaced it, instead. Eerie, awful silence that would make the sound of a pin dropping seem like a bomb had exploded.

JT’s gasping was suddenly ten times as loud. The basement looked exactly like it had when he had rushed down after Gil all those months ago— in fact, it looked even worse. It looked darker, and bloodier, even though he would have thought both those things wouldn’t even be possible. His eyes zeroed in on the crumpled heap on the ground; he ran to it. He dropped to the floor and reached out to roll him onto his back.

Malcolm looked even worse than he had when they’d found him in the factory. All the dried blood that had been on him was fresh. His blood was thick and dark, and the second JT touched him, it seemed to bathe him. He could barely even _see _him under the gore. His arm was that same horrible broken— it was bent at that right angle, with the bone protruding right out of the skin. Blood was gushing out of the wound and with every one of Malcolm’s feeble chokes and gasps, blood was gushing out of his mouth, too. He was already surrounded in a pool of it and yet there was still more to lose. It never ended.

Blindly, JT began to try and help. There was so much blood, he couldn’t even see where the injuries were. Panicking, he reached out and started with his throat, and the slice that was cut into its side. The _second_ JT put pressure on it, the silence was shattering as Malcolm started to scream again, even worse than before. He gagged and choked, his eyes crazy with pain and desperation. JT flinched, but forced himself to think despite his howling. “Don’t move, Malcolm!” he yelled, looking over him and all his injuries, overwhelmed for a moment as he wondered what the hell he was supposed to do. Which injury was the worst!? What should he focus on!? “Don’t move, you gotta—”

“Y…ou watched…!” JT froze, his eyes going huge as he looked down at him. All the efforts to stop his bleeding were cut off, with this sudden accusation. It was choked with agony and suffering, but it was alive with anger too. And worse than that, it was alive with _betrayal_. Deep, hurt betrayal was in Malcolm’s eyes now, as he looked up at him with an expression between a glare and a beg. He reached up with his good arm to grab onto his shoulder and pull him down closer. It just highlighted all his injuries— all the gore, all his torment. “You _watched!”_ he sobbed, louder and clearer this time. JT opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Without warning, Malcolm sucked in a sharp breath and screeched at the top of his lungs: _“You watched!” _

“I— I—”

_“Why didn’t you help me!?” _Malcolm screamed. Furious. Desolate. JT tried to move but again, he found he couldn’t. He could only stare down at him, horrified and guilt-ridden. Unable to do anything but listen. _“You watched him! You watched him hurt me you just watched why didn’t you help me!?” _JT’s stomach lurched— the more Malcolm screamed, the more he started to bleed. From his mouth, from the slice under his chin, across his forehead— blood so scarlet it might as well be black, gushing faster and faster, coating his clothes and staining his skin and filling the air.

Horror was already gripping JT to the core, but it just multiplied with Malcolm yanked him desperately closer. _“Why didn’t you help me, why did you just watch!?” _His left hand had been resting on his chest, unmoving— JT watched as one by one, each of his fingers bent backward, breaking with sickening snapping noises that were almost lost underneath Malcolm’s weak scream of pain. Blood started running from his eyes like tears. _“Why didn’t you do anything, why didn’t you help me!?” _he wailed brokenly.

“I _wanted _to, I—” By now JT couldn’t even see any of his wounds at all— he was just blood, that was all there was to see. He was pressing blindly against anywhere he thought there might be injuries. It wasn’t doing anything; he knew it wasn’t. He knew it was futile. He knew Malcolm was dying. Suffering even more than he already had. “It’ll be okay— _Malcolm, _it’ll be okay— I’m gonna get you out of here, you’re gonna get out of here, _Malcolm, you’re going to make it, you’re gonna get through this!”_

He wasn’t listening. He just kept crying, kept screaming, like he did in all those recordings. There was no use. There was nothing he could do. Malcolm was bleeding out. He was _bleeding out,_ he wasn’t going to make it like this. He wasn’t going to make it! His efforts grew more desperate. He tore it, shaking his head fast and stooping down to gather him up in his arms. “You’re fine…” His voice didn’t sound like his own. He sounded like he was going to be sick. He _felt _like he was going to be sick. “You’re gonna be okay, Malcolm, you’re gonna make it home.”

He gathered him up to his chest, Malcolm screeching even more as he was moved. But the second JT whirled around, he was screeching to a stop. His eyes flew wide as he realized the stairs were gone. They were still in the dingy basement, but now there was no way out. “No…no, _no!” _He ran to the opposite wall, where they had been not even a second ago. But nothing. No way out— there was no way out. They were both trapped, and Malcolm was losing too much blood. His crying was getting weaker. He looked down, panic gripping his heart as he realized his head was starting to dip back. He looked up again and started screaming as loud as possible: _“Gil! Help!” _He knew nobody would come, but he kept shouting anyway, his desperation only growing. _“Help! Help, Malcolm needs help! Help us, help!”_

Nobody came. They were trapped. Malcolm was going to die, here. _He _was going to die here.

He’d just watched. He should have done something sooner. He could have saved him.

Why had he watched? He’d just _watched. _He could have _saved _him. _He could have saved him. Hecouldhavesavedhimhecouldhavesavedhimhe—_

He woke up mid-gasp, which choked off in his throat once his eyes snapped open. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it. His breathing was harsh and ragged; the first thing he did was look down at himself, prepared to see all of Malcolm’s thick blood still coating him. He jerked with confusion when he didn’t see anything. His hands were clean. He jerked back up, his head reeling, and he stopped short again when he saw his wife. Tally was sitting up in bed, her eyes wide with fear and concern. Her hand was on his shoulder…that must have been what had woken him up.

She watched as he slowly started to try and get his breath back under control, which was a taller order than he anticipated. Even when he started to regularize his breathing, it still shook and stuttered. After some time, she brought herself to break the silence. Her eyebrows knitted together; she let her hand linger on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” she breathed. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head to try and clear it. When she saw how difficult it was for him, she weakened even more. “You were tossing and turning, and mumbling…I couldn’t make sense of what you were saying…”

He raised a hand to press it against his forehead. It shook, when he did. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing for a while. Now that he was awake and putting two and two together, his other emotions started to fester underneath his skin. He felt embarrassed, mostly. But fear was still thrumming in his veins, from the dream. Malcolm was sticking in his mind— bloody and betrayed and in pain. “Bad dream,” he eventually managed. The explanation was curt. But she already knew all the details he was keeping from her.

She hesitated, but eventually blurted out what he already knew was on her mind. “You should ask if someone else can—”

“No.” She couldn’t even finish before he was rejecting her.

Some of her concern started to sharpen into anger. But it was only because she was so worried. “You _can’t _keep watching all those videos— _look _at what it’s _doing to you! _You’ve been getting more and more distant— you hardly ate _anything _for dinner, tonight! They can’t _expect you _to sit through _all that footage, _that’s too much to ask of someone! You’re—”

“Tally, _stop.”_

“You’re getting…_secondhand trauma from it, _you _can’t _keep—!”

“I am _not _getting _anything _from it, it’s a _job, _I’m not even going through _all _the footage, I—!”

“You need to ask them— no, you need to _tell them _that they need to find someone else—”

He was already shaking his head. “No,” he growled. “I’m _not _just gonna…_hand off the job.”_

She weakened, her expression growing sadder. She glanced at down at her lap, and her hands that were clenched tightly there. “JT…I know he’s your friend…” she started slowly. He looked at her a little sharply, but she didn’t back down. In fact, she did her best to make her voice a little harder, with his glance. “I _know _he’s your friend, and I know how _nice _of a person he was…” The occasions were rare on which she’d gotten to spend time with Malcolm Bright— mostly it was by chance or happenstance. But he was a good person, she could tell. He was kind, despite what other people said about him. He was awkward but in an endearing way. The thought of him suffering so much – and she barely knew any of the _true_ details – was heartbreaking to her. She could tell that it was getting to her husband, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

“But you can’t keep going like this— you know it will only get worse,” she pressed. He said nothing; he was fixing her with that angry look he usually did that told her trying to get her point across would be futile— that he wasn’t listening anymore and she had to get back to this later, when, usually, he’d finally admit she was right. But she knew that right now, she had to get through this. She’d been wanting to say it for days; she couldn’t let go of the courage now that she finally had it. “I _know_ he’s your friend and— and you might see this as your way of making it up to him, but—”

“Making it up to him,” he scoffed under his breath, shaking his head.

“You think this is something you have to do, but it’s not! This isn’t going to make up for anything! You—!”

_“I know it’s not going to make up for anything!” _JT suddenly snapped. She jumped a little, her eyes going wide at his unexpected yell. He glared at her. “There _is no _making up for this! Not for _any of us— _not for _me, _or _Dani, _or _Gil!” _Her mouth hung open. But once he’d started, now he couldn’t stop._ “Twelve_ months! He was there for a _year, _he did _all _the work for us, he _left us with everything laid out, and we still couldn’t get to him!” _Her heart twisted when she heard his voice start to change. To thicken. “I tell you a _fraction…_of the things on those tapes, it’d make you want to be _sick._ I haven’t even watched them all. And he had to go through it _every single day _for _twelve months, so no— I don’t think that me watching it is going to make it any better, I don’t think it’ll make up for anything— _in fact, I _know _he would _much rather _have _nobody ever see that footage, _because that’s how horrible it was!

“But he _wanted me to do it,” _he pressed, his voice getting a little weaker. Tally’s eyes rounded out with sorrow. He looked away, locking his jaw back. “I didn’t do _anything _for him…the _entire year _he was gone.” He paused but shook his head hard. “It’s the _least _I could do, to do this _one_ thing he wanted.”

Tally looked away sadly.

Her husband’s voice was even quieter when he continued. “And…they’re…” She looked back up, confused. He wasn’t meeting her gaze any more. She saw his shoulders hunch. “They’re clueless,” he muttered. “He’s…just starting to wake up, but…they’re clueless on…why he’s so…_scared, _or…how to _talk _to him, or…why he’s…scared of this, or…that…” He stared off into space for a couple seconds, before he shook his head again. “Maybe if I know what happened to him, I can…make it easier…for all of them. Somehow.” He was barely mumbling by the time he was through, and when this last part came out he was clearly through. He clamped his mouth closed tightly. Nodding just a fraction of an inch.

She softened. Sorrow and hesitancy stayed alive in her eyes, but as she studied him and how sober he looked, she gradually gave in. She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder, starting to rub it comfortingly. “Okay,” she murmured. He perked a little. “I understand…I just wish it wasn’t so hard on you,” she added, quieter.

He searched her face in the dark before he sighed and turned away again. “It’s hard on everyone,” he replied. “But it’s the worst for him…” His voice was filled with soft concern and sorrow. It was the side of him she knew he’d rather nobody else knew existed, so he rarely let it see daylight. But she could hear it now— all the worry and heartache he tried to make it seem like he was immune to. Once she recognized it, she shifted a little closer, leaning against him and wrapping an arm around his waist. She settled her head on his shoulder and smiled just a little when she felt him hold her back.

They sat like that in the dark, JT trying to shake off the lingering effects of his nightmare, and Tally doing her best to reassure him everything would be fine.

It was a difficult job. Especially considering they both knew it wasn’t going to be fine at all.

Not for a very long time.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“He’s warm…” Her hand was resting on his forehead. Early this morning at around four, Malcolm had begun to foster a low-grade fever. Only 99.7 but it was still concerning. Gradually throughout the morning, he’d started to get hotter and hotter. At Jessica’s announcement, the nurse frowned, looking away from the computer, to her patient. Malcolm was asleep. He wasn’t even roused by his mother’s touch, even when she let her hand drift down the side of his face to cup his cheek, which was also burning. “Will that delay the surgery?” Jessica asked, dreading the answer. It had been scheduled for twelve. It was almost ten.

The nurse fetched a thermometer. Given that he was asleep, she took it temporally, gently running it across his forehead. She pulled it back once it beeped, and frowned a little. “100.8,” she murmured, and Jessica’s heart sank with the number.

The nurse just stayed thoughtful, though. “It’s most likely from the infection in his arm,” she reasoned aloud. Jessica’s stomach plummeted, when she looked at his left one. It was dressed with a negative pressure system— something that covered the worst of the injury and was connected to a little machine that did its best to remove everything that wasn’t supposed to be there. Everything that could potentially harm her son more.

It had been in place for ages, and yet they were _still _having to take him down over and over again, to get rid of more of the infected tissue. They said they usually did it every two or three days, typically, but in Malcolm’s case they were trying their best not to put his body through so much stress, and time it right. But it still felt like she frequently had to watch her son be taken from her, and pace in his room until he returned, wondering if he was ever going to come back at all. They’d promised her that given how every time they had to take him down, the procedure grew shorter and shorter, it was nothing but good news. That he was on the road to recovery.

She still wasn’t sure keeping his arm was the best thing for him.

She still would rather them to cut it off. Just to save him the stress. He was already so scared…

“So I don’t imagine the surgeon will want to delay the debridement if his arm is what’s _causing _the fever.” She was roused back into things when the nurse kept going. “But I’ll have to call and ask him. It differs on the situation.” She gave Jessica a smile that was most likely meant to be reassuring. “I’ll let you know as soon as he gets back to me, okay?” Jessica tried to smile back as she nodded. The nurse left, leaving them alone in the room. Suddenly, it felt much too big.

Her eyes were heavy when she looked down at her son, still fast asleep. He looked calm now. Her eyes went to his right hand. It was open, his palm turned upwards. The root beer sucker that Gabrielle had given him was still resting neatly, there. He hadn’t wanted to let go of it since he’d gotten it. A nurse had tried to take it from him once and he had instantly reacted terribly. They knew better now that they should just let him keep it. She had no idea what solace it was giving him…but she supposed she should be grateful there was solace at all.

She studied him, like she always did now, especially when he was asleep. She did it so often, and yet she could never get herself to become used to what she saw. Somehow, she was never expecting how thin he was— at the fact she could see his cheekbones so clearly, and every single joint seemed too pronounced. At how pale he was, and how fragile-looking, with all those injuries. His hair wasn’t the same. She had cut it to mostly its usual look – or the best she could do, anyway – but it was still lighter than normal…and still brittle from starvation. She reached up now to trace her fingers soothingly through it; all she could focus on was how coarse it felt.

Her throat grew hot, the longer she sat there in the silence, with him. When she broke it, her voice was barely a whisper— she didn’t want to wake him up. He only seemed to get peace when he was asleep, now. Every time else, he was terrified. And he’d had a year of terror. Of suffering, of torment. He needed this moment. He needed all the moments he could get. “I’m so sorry…” she breathed, petting through his hair like she used to do when he was little and very sick. She would kneel by his bed and brush his hair back until he fell asleep. Now she was doing it again, hoping it would give him the comfort it used to.

“I’m so sorry, my darling…” Tears started to run down her cheeks. She didn’t try to brush them away. She didn’t put on makeup anymore; she could wear the same outfit three days in a row, sometimes. Nothing that _used_ to matter to her, like appearances, mattered anymore. _Malcolm _mattered. And that was it. She stroked down the side of his face again, brushing the back of her hand slowly across his cheek. In his sleep, he shifted his head just the tiniest bit. Following her touch. It made tears rush forward and blind her.

She hadn’t been this used to crying since Martin was arrested.

“I wish I could have saved you…” she cried softly. Her son stayed oblivious, too exhausted to wake up. She tucked his hair behind his ear and smoothed his bangs back. She leaned down and planted the tiniest kiss against his temple. Cringing like it caused her physical pain as she lingered there to whisper quietly against his skin: “I would have done _anything_, if I only could have…”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

This was good. It was going to be good, for him. To see their faces. It might help.

It _would _help, she was fast to correct herself. It _would. _Not _might…_but _would._

It _would _help. Of course it would. Of course.

Jessica put on a smile when she heard the knock at the door. She had been waiting on pins and needles this entire time, and now it was finally here. Still, she hesitated. Her eyes went from the door, to her son. He was half-asleep, staring blankly off to the side, not really looking at anything but just staring through it all. He’d just been given another dose of morphine about five minutes ago; she’d hoped it dulled his pain and would also keep him relaxed, at the same time. Sure enough, he looked almost ready to doze right off. Which was a better alternative. His blanket was pulled up to his nose. Though she couldn’t see his right hand, she knew he was still holding onto that sucker.

She agonized for a few more moments over whether this was the right thing to do. Until the knock came again and she knew there was no more putting it off. She went to answer it, glancing over her shoulder to check that he was okay, still. He either hadn’t noticed her leaving, or he didn’t care. His blank stare remained unchanged. She took in a slow breath, turning back and opening the door.

The four were armed with smiles that were nothing but nervous. She hoped her smile was better than theirs. “Hello,” she greeted warmly. Gil was standing at the front, Dani at his side. Edrisa stood a little behind Dani’s shoulder, and even further back, JT lingered, like he wasn’t quite sure where he fit. She started off looking at Gil, but when he smiled at her and she saw how pained and searching his smile was, she found she couldn’t keep eye contact. She looked at Dani, instead. It hurt her much less.

Gil deflated when she looked away. Dani just did her best to return the smile she was giving her. “Hello, Mrs. Whitly,” she murmured. Her hands were already wringing in front of her, betraying her nerves. As did the caution in her voice, when she pushed herself far enough to ask, “How is he doing?”

She looked at her a little closer. She knew this girl was close to Malcolm— he’d mentioned her often, in stories both about work and _not _about work. This wasn’t the first time she had seen her. She’d gone to the station often, while they were looking for her son; she’d seen her burning both ends of the candle, exhausted because she had come in at seven in the morning and she was _still _there, even when it was ten at night, looking through all the evidence for the millionth time, even though nothing at all had changed. Even now, she could see the bags under her eyes, which loudly proclaimed the hours of sleep that were still lost to her.

She wasn’t sure _what _type of relationship Dani had with her son. Maybe they were simply close friends. Maybe they weren’t. But suddenly, she was wondering whether or not this was a good idea. She wondered whether or not her son would want her to see him this way. Or…no, she didn’t wonder. She knew. She _knew_ he wouldn’t. And yet at the same time, this could be exactly what he needs…maybe if he saw more familiar faces, he would come back to himself a little more— a little _faster_. If he was surrounded by people that wanted nothing more than to see him get better, it would help. They’d been asking for ages when they could come and see him, anyway. It was killing two birds with one stone.

Or at least…that was what she was telling herself.

It was easier to think that, than to just acknowledge the fact they were at the end of their rope.

Very delayed, she realized that she’d asked her a question. She breathed in fast, blinking rapidly and clearing her throat, to nudge herself back into focus. “He’s…he’s doing well, today…” she murmured eventually. Dani was already starting to smile, at the news. “He’s…still not…_himself, _but he’s doing well.” Dani’s smile faded just a bit, but Jessica was fast to try and reinforce it by adding: “I’m sure it’ll be very good for him to see familiar faces. He hasn’t really…come back _all _the way yet, so…it’ll be good for him. To see friends. I’m sure.” She didn’t sound very confident, but they didn’t call her out on it, to her relief. They all just exchanged glances and nodded.

Jessica looked at them thoughtfully, before glancing over her shoulder, back to Malcolm. When she turned back to the group, there was no mistaking the way she eyed Gil and JT. She cleared her throat, and offered them a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Perhaps…just you two,” she tried, looking at Dani and Edrisa, who immediately straightened. “I think…we’ve um…” She cleared her throat again. “It’s just— we’ve had…_male_ nurses and— and male assistants, and he doesn’t seem to…_react _as well as he does with…_females, _the…hospital psychologist said it’s most likely because of the fact his…_he _was a…male.” The explanation fell flat. Her throat was too thick to finish properly.

Gil looked down, his jaw locking back as he pushed his hands into his pockets. His expression was pained, as he remembered the way Malcolm had stared at him. How terrified he’d looked, and how much he’d screamed. He wanted to argue, but there was nothing he could say. He just took a small step back, trying not to feel too much disappointment when the two girls started in after Jessica. He stayed standing out in the hall, by JT. Neither of them said anything, but when Gil glanced at him, he saw just the faintest trace of his own impatience and sorrow on his face, too.

Dani and Edrisa followed Jessica into the room. Jessica glanced at them and they got the message. They stood at the foot of his bed, waiting as she walked the rest of the way to his side. She crouched down, reaching out and putting her hand down lightly on top of his wrist as she murmured, “Malcolm?” He kept staring off into space. She ran her thumb along the side of his arm. “Malcolm, dear…” He stirred. His eyes stayed dull, but they flickered to her. “There’s people here who would like to see you…”

Dani was the first one to be brave enough to take a couple of steps closer. When he saw the movement, he looked at her. Her hands clenched, when their eyes met. He looked better— better than he did the first time she had visited. It’d only been a short while ago, really, but he was still better. He was more…himself— if only slightly. He was more awake, and even though she could see a sense of fear when they looked at one another, she could _also _see deep down – maybe _very _deep down, but deep down either way – he was the same. She could see Malcolm’s old self.

He stayed completely still, as he stared at her. She was stuck for a moment, locked in place. She could feel how intensely his mother was looking between the two of them. But she tried to push it out of her mind. She tried to only look at him, and focus on him. She’d wanted this for twelve entire months. She had _hurt _for twelve months, doing everything she could to try and find him, and save him, knowing it would amount to nothing in the end. Here she was, finally able to be with him, again.

Seeing him now, injured and weak and stick-thin, with IVs and dressings, she remembered that last night. How he’d smiled, and had actually laughed. How he’d grinned when he’d looked at her and teased her back. How he’d stood on the sidewalk and waved to her, promising he’d see her the next day. That was all that was running through her head, as she stared at him. And as he stared just as levelly back, she wondered if it was running through his head, too. Or at least some piece of it.

Slowly, her expression softened. She began to smile— a genuine one. “Hey, Bright…” she murmured. His eyes flashed. She didn’t know whether or not that was a good thing. She clenched her hands tighter, but took a couple steps closer. Jessica looked apprehensive, but she took a step back, to give her room. The closer she got, the more it hurt. But the more she smiled, too. She searched his face, thinking of how horrible he’d looked when they’d first found him, and the minimal improvements that she could see, in comparison. Finding tiny scraps of relief and just clinging onto them as much as she could. “You have any idea how much you worried us?” she prompted, after a pause.

He just stared at her, at first. But there was something changing in the back of his gaze— at first she wasn’t sure what it was, until it grew enough to come out in the form of a smile. It was a small smile, weakened because of how drowsy he was. But it was clear by the look that came over Jessica’s face, it wasn’t something that happened often. Not that it had ever happened frequently in the first place. Dani found herself melting and beaming at the tiny grin. At the tiny hint of _himself._

His lips hardly moved when he spoke. His voice was quiet and weighted down with sleepiness. She understood him anyway. “You…called me Bright,” he whispered, like it was something unbelievable.

A little bit of pain fractured her smile. But she stayed warm. “Of course I did,” she returned. “It’s what I always call you.” For a long moment they just stared at each other, her chest getting hotter and hotter the longer their gazes held. But then she cleared her throat, turning and looking back encouragingly. “Edrisa came, too.” She immediately stepped forward. Her approach was too eager; his eyes widened and he stiffened a little at her too-fast advance. Edrisa’s face began to fall; Dani was quickly moving on, to try and make up for it. “She was just as worried as I was.”

“Hi…Bright…” she offered quietly.

He perked, when she used that name for him. Dani’s heart panged. Looking at him, she remembered the video she’d seen of him tied to the chair, asked his name over and over again until he’d answered correctly, earning a bat swing directly into him when he didn’t give the answer Winston had wanted. He’d made him call himself Whitly. Seeing him now, and his reaction to hearing his _true _last name, she could see how different it seemed to be for him. That was good…that was good— if they could use things like that, maybe they could cement him in reality. _Here_, with _them_.

He stayed looking at them, but his eyes were gradually getting glassier. His eyelids were drooping, getting too heavy to keep up. Dani realized this. She glanced at Jessica, who seemed torn. On one hand, she wanted her son to get the rest she knew he desperately needed. But on the other, he was reacting so well to them…the thought of letting him sleep and losing potential progress created the doubt on her face. When Dani glanced at her, and she caught her gaze, something changed in Jessica’s. She looked at her almost pleadingly, though Dani had no idea why. She had no idea what _she_ was supposed to do.

Dani took in a slow breath and knelt down on the floor, so she could be at his level. He let his head fall a little, so he could keep his eyes on her. He looked a little warier, but he was probably too tired to put up much of a reaction in the first place. Her smile was sad, but it was relieved and affectionate too. As was her voice. “I’m really glad you’re safe, Bright…I’m _really_ glad to see you, again,” she murmured.

She had missed him for so long. She had missed him more than she’d expected to. She’d replayed that last night she’d seen him over and over in her head, just _wishing_ she had done anything different. She was replaying it now, seeing his smile, seeing his little wave, but at least this time, there was a relief to it, when she found herself looking at him again. He might be tired…he might be out of it…but they were the same blue eyes that were staring back at her. Foggy as they were, they were _his_. And she had just begun to fear she would never get to look at them again. Here they finally were.

“It wasn’t easy…without you. For any of us. We’re all here, now…we’re all here to help you. We all wish we could have helped you sooner…” She cracked a tiny, bittersweet smile. As she spoke lowly to him, Jessica had stepped out to let the others inside too, hoping against hope that the interaction would continue to run smoothly, and would stretch to even them. Dani didn’t turn around, so she didn’t see JT and Gil cautiously enter. But she felt their eyes go to her immediately— she felt a little of their tension fill the air, like humidity. She tried to ignore it and hoped Bright could do. But he was already half-asleep. His eyes were only halfway open, by now.

“I should have brought some tea with me,” she adds. It’s not _that _funny, but she laughs a little. Mostly because the thought of sitting down and having tea with him again was so relieving to her. And because she remembered how he’d started to ramble the way he always does, and how he’d broken off awkwardly. How happy he’d been just to say the word ‘friend’ and how adorable she’d thought it was— though she would never admit that last part. She didn’t laugh much, but she laughed a little bit.

So did Malcolm.

_Everyone_ in the room froze when, right after her chuckle, he laughed, too. It was even quieter than hers and even shorter. It sounded absent, even— like he’d only half-understood whatever joke there was to even laugh _at. _It was more of a couple heavy exhales than it was an actual laugh; but it was close enough. His mouth twitched into a feeble smile that was fading as soon as it got there. His eyes were closing, too. So he didn’t see Dani’s eyes go huge. He didn’t see Jessica clap at hand over her mouth, and he didn’t hear his mother’s choking gasp, either. The second he was through laughing, his smile was fading as his entire face relaxed. His eyes closed and his head fell a little slack. He was losing his battle to stay awake.

But after this flash of himself, Jessica was suddenly desperate to stop him. Dani stumbled back in just enough time to get out of the way as his mother rushed to his beside. She leaned down and put her hand on his shoulder. At her touch, he was rousing again. When he heard her voice, he began the painstaking effort of prying his eyes back open. Dani was unprepared for the pain it caused her, to see him struggle so much to do the one simple thing. “Malcolm…Malcolm, darling, you have more visitors. You remember them, right? Can you look at them?” She was begging him.

He could only get his eyes halfway open, but even when he did, they could tell there was nothing in them. He was exhausted. He needed to sleep. But Jessica was desperate. “Malcolm…it’s— it’s _Gil!_ Gil’s here!” He didn’t mistake the way her voice stuck, when it came to his name. He waited tensely for the kid to catch sight of him. The last time he’d seen him, he had started screaming, and he hadn’t stopped. He’d looked like he’d seen a ghost. The thought of that staying, and him never being able to look at him again was horrifying. The man’s heart was in his throat as he waited, his hands clenching at his sides.

But Malcolm could barely keep his eyes open, much less move his head to look at him. His eyes shut again. He tried to keep them open, but the second he managed the impossible task, they were fluttering closed again, and staying closed for longer periods of time. Gil hung his head, cringing as he struggled not to let his disappointment show too obviously. Jessica’s expression crumbled, with frustration and sorrow. She squeezed his shoulder, trying everything she could to keep him from falling asleep. “And— and Malcolm— _look, _your other friend is here! It’s…”

She blanked, looking at him, confused. Dani whispered to her: “JT.”

“JT!” She turned back to Malcolm quickly, squeezing again. “JT is here, Malcolm!”

JT finds himself walking closer. Malcolm doesn’t open his eyes. But he _does _speak. “I know…he’s alw’ys here…” he exhales. Everyone frowned. They look at JT, puzzlement clear on their face. But he was just staring at Malcolm, his stomach slowly working itself into a knot. Jessica turned back to her son, but he’d officially lost the battle of staying awake. He hadn’t slept well the night before as it was; his new dose of morphine was working against him as well, ensuring he wouldn’t last long. His breathing was slow and even, and his expression was serene. Jessica’s face fell. She slowly took her hand away from him.

She looked at JT, confused. “Do you know what he meant?” she asked.

“He…” JT’s mouth suddenly runs dry. Nothing was wanting to come out. She was looking at him hungrily, practically begging him to give her _something. _He remembered the tapes. He tried to find the right words in himself to explain. That he had watched so many horrible things happen to her son— that Malcolm had _known _he would have to witness at least some of the torment. Some of his suffering. Not even _close_ to all of it, and yet more than a lifetime’s worth.

He tried to find the right words. But he came up short.

His eyes flickered to Dani. _She_ knew, too. Maybe she could explain. But she looked at the ground.

“No. I don’t know,” he mumbled eventually.

Jessica wilted, but didn’t fight.

He caught Dani’s eye again. She was just as mute as he was. Just at a loss for what to say. Gil had explained to her that there were recordings. Jessica had been sick at the mere notion. She had _immediately_ snapped at him not to let anyone else get their hands on the evidence but the police— not to media, not to anyone. She had vehemently refused even the tiniest glimpse of a single second of what was recorded. She must have known that they would have to be looked over by _someone_ on the force. But he didn’t know whether or not she knew that the job had gone to one of them— to _him. _That Dani and Gil had both seen some of them, too. He couldn’t find a way to say that. Neither could Dani, apparently. Or Gil.

Maybe it was just because there _were _no right words, to give.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She didn’t understand a lot of what he was saying, but she _did _understand _that. _She roused, blinking rapidly as she lifted her gaze back up, from where it had drifted down to the floor. “Excuse me?” she rasped. Torres seemed confused by her confusion. “What did you say?” she pressed, just a little louder. “You…you said…skilled…nursing…?”

“Well, yes. That’s the next step,” he elaborated. “Malcolm has made _remarkable_ progress. He’s had no arrhythmias, and every debridement surgery has gotten shorter, with his arm— we’ve been taking cultures frequently and the infection in his arm is resolving. Antibiotics alone will start to do their work much more effectively. We’ll soon be taking off the negative pressure dressing and fitting him with a cast, instead; none of his other wounds have developed any signs of infection. Pretty soon, all that’s left is for him to…start eating again, rest, and begin to work on getting back to the highest level of functioning he can. With his level of muscle atrophy, he’ll have a _long_ road ahead of him when it comes to walking again. And, obviously, he’ll need the help of psychotherapy to come to terms with what has happened…

“But…all that work can be taken care of at a skilled nursing facility. That’s a good thing— it means he’s stable enough to leave the hospital, here soon. Not quite tomorrow, or even by the end of this week. But it’s just something you should be made aware of now. Some patients don’t want to just listen to our advice, they want to do their own research and pick the facility. Which is absolutely fine and even encouraged, but…from experience I know it can just take some time. So we’re discussing it well in advance.” She wilted, still unsure. He kept going. “But…speaking of our priority right _now…_we’re definitely going to want to get Malcolm eating, because the physical therapists are going to begin to come down and see him. We’ll start our work on that area.” He smiled pleasantly, waiting for her to ask any more questions.

She did ask a question, but it ended up being the same thing. “When he’s…discharged from…here…”

“He’ll go to a skilled nursing facility,” he completed for her, still smiling politely. “It’s usually the path our patients follow, with trauma as severe as Malcolm came in with. That, or rehabilitation. We’re just sending Malcolm to the skilled nursing facility because he still requires some specialized care; things like IVs, or injections, which is offered there but not at rehab.”

“He…he doesn’t…get to come home?” she murmured.

Understanding dawned over his face. “_Oh_…well, Mrs. Whitly, you have to understand, he’s still in need of a lot of help. Help that can’t be provided by you. I completely understand you want your son home as soon as possible, but you have to keep in mind his condition. And think rationally.”

“But…but he’ll be _happier _at home, it might— it might help him more, to be there!” she burst out. Torres ducked his head a little but didn’t interrupt her. “If he stays with us, in a— in a place he _knows, _he’ll be less _scared. _Wouldn’t he? That would help him more than a therapist would at some facility he’s never seen before! You said he was stable enough to leave, that there’s only a couple more things that are issues, that can be taken care of outside the hospital?”

“They’re still very serious issues,” he was quick to correct. “It’s still not something that can—”

“But I could hire people to visit my house and help with that, right?” she asked. Torres stopped short, surprised by the notion. She clasped her hands tight at her chest, as if she was begging him. “I could hire nurses and physical therapists that could come and work with him. I could buy any of the necessary…_equipment _he might need— I could make sure a dietician was working with him on what to eat. He already has a therapist— one he already trusts. I could hire anyone else I might need. And my son could stay with me— at his childhood home. Wouldn’t that be better? Wouldn’t that be easier on him?”

Torres seemed doubtful. “I…in theory, you _could _hire out for help…but it would be very expensive, as would all the things necessary for him to recover. You would have to have…_frequent _home health visits which are _not _cheap—”

“I’ll pay anything,” she rushed. He frowned, still looking torn. Her hope was only growing on her face. “I could take him home, couldn’t I?” she practically begged. When he didn’t answer right away, she weakened with desperation. _“Please,” _she implored, her throat getting hotter. “Please…I have missed my son for an entire _year…_he has been through _so _much. _All _I want, is for him to come home. All I want is for him to feel safe, and he will _not _feel safe if he’s just _shipped off _to another facility and surrounded by strangers around the clock. This way he could— he could still get the help he needs…but he could be surrounded by his family— by things he _knows. _He would be so much happier that way, I know he would…”

Torres still hesitated. But he was getting weaker and weaker the more she pled.

“_Please_,” she pressed, when he still stayed silent. “If there is _any _way for him to be able to stay at home _and _get the help he needs…I don’t care what the price would be. I would pay it. I would do anything for it. You just need to tell me what that entails. Please.”

He looked her up and down. His eyes flashed. She thought he would stay on the fence, but she was surprised when he smiled a little, and nodded. “Alright,” he relented. “I’m sure we could help arrange that.”

She nearly staggered with relief. She nearly started breaking down sobbing, right there in the hall.

It was something so little…the idea of Malcolm sitting in her home again, on her couch.

But at the same time it was also something she’d thought she’d never get again.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He was starting to move. Just a little bit, and very slowly, but it was enough to catch her attention. Ainsley turned and her heart dropped when she saw her brother begin to shift his head on his pillow, from one side to the other. At first, she hoped it was just him changing positions in his sleep. But no— all he was doing was moving his head. His forehead began to crease and his lips began to twitch as he mumbled. Her heart sank even more when he saw his right arm start to twitch and jerk.

He was having a nightmare. And while the fact wasn’t surprising at all in the slightest, frustrated sorrow gripped her heart hard once she realized. He had only just fallen asleep a couple hours ago, and his sleep was already being disturbed. What her brother needed _most, _was rest. And he still wasn’t being allowed that. She had no idea what his nightmares were like and how they would affect him when he was already so confused. For a moment she hesitated, staring at him warily, wondering what would happen if she woke him up. Would he be too scared to think, again? Would he start screaming and crying again— would he start attacking her out of sheer muscle habit?

She was the only one that was here, at the moment. Once again, her mother had gone home to arrange everything for Malcolm to move there, instead. It had been a solid week of her mother doing what she did best: micromanaging and barking orders into a phone. She was setting everything up so particularly and carefully. Ainsley had been home the other day to see the progress that had already been made – she was starting to set up her life in her old room, because there was no doubt in her mind that she was going to stay there with them, too – and she had to admit it was impressive.

She’d replaced one of the many studies, and made it its own splice of the hospital. She’d wanted to see if they could set up in his old room, but that involved stairs, which they knew was out of the question. So they’d put it on the ground floor. She’d made it as cozy as possible, taking as much of his room as she could and putting it there, instead. But it was complete with a hospital bed, IV poles, tiny, portable machines, and everything else they could possibly need. Her mother was doing everything she could, for him, which Ainsley knew meant a lot. But it also meant she was gone, for once. When before, she could barely step away from Malcolm long enough to take a shower.

And that meant she wasn’t here, to help her out right now. To tell her what to do.

She floundered, but it was only for a couple of seconds. She was quick to snap herself out to it— to tell herself that it didn’t matter at all what he did once she woke him up. It didn’t even matter if he punched her. She wasn’t going to let him stay hurting if there was something she could do about it. Malcolm’s eyebrows were knitted all the way now— he was whimpering. His right arm jerked out and hit the siderail. It didn’t wake him up.

She reached out, putting her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Malcolm…” She had no idea why she was still trying to whisper. They were the only ones in the room and yet the thought of speaking _above_ a whisper never occurred to her. By now, it was sheer habit. But when Malcolm still cringed and gasped, she grimaced a little. She forced herself to raise her voice. “Malcolm…hey…you’re having a bad dream…”

He cringed and yelped again, the noise similar to what an injured puppy might make. It broke her heart. She changed so that instead of resting on his shoulder, she could reach out and put her hand against his cheek, taking care to be gentle. She stroked her thumb over his skin, trying not to notice just how easily she could feel his bones. She had to suppress a shiver, but still, she kept her voice gentle. Though she noticed when Malcolm’s head jerked to the side, like he was fighting to get away. “Mal…hey…Mal, c’mon…wake up…”

Something must have finally clicked, and when it did, his eyes snapped open. They looked like they usually did— wild, and afraid. The same second they flew open, he gasped in a hard breath, nearly choking himself in the process. His eyes were blank, in that way that made it clear he hadn’t actually seen her, yet. When he felt her hand on his face, his arm immediately snapped up to try and shove at her. She jerked, her stomach dropping with surprise. She knew he wasn’t strong enough to hurt her, right now— that all she had to do was grab his wrist and tug hard, and she would overpower him easy. But she didn’t have the heart to do that. She just stayed still, watching sorrowfully as he pushed at her a couple times.

She was trying to brace herself for something more, but he didn’t do anything else. After a couple of feeble attempts, he gave up. He just laid there, frozen in fear. He was staring blankly off to the side, where his head had just so happened to fall when he woke up. He was staring at the wall of the hospital room, gasping shallowly in and out. She found herself hoping and praying that the sunlight coming in through the open window would help remind him of where he was, like it usually did. Not stuck in a dim basement, but safe, in a bright hospital room.

She was biting hard on the inside of her cheek. Malcolm kept staring at the wall, his eyes huge as he gasped raggedly. His hyperventilation was gradually steadying but the fear stayed on his face. They stayed like that for ages, Ainsley waiting and Malcolm silently panicking. She shifted just a little bit, her back straining from leaning over him the way she was. The very instant he felt the minuscule shift, his head was whipping back around to her, so quickly she barely got herself to hold back a squeak of surprise.

He whirled around towards her, his breath catching again. She was disarmed by just _how_ terrified he still looked, when their eyes met. Panic was alive in every feature on his face. She found herself staring straight into fear so strong and deep that she had no idea how in the world to even _begin_ to comprehend it. Just _looking_ at her brother was taking all the air out of her lungs— was making her eyes sting. For a long moment, Malcolm said nothing, barely breathing and yet hyperventilating at the same time. She couldn’t say anything with him staring at her like that. She was numb.

She was prepared to stay frozen like this for ages. For neither of them to move and for them to just be stuck like this. But icy cold shock gripped her when all of a sudden, there was a flash of something else in his eyes. She stiffened when she saw _actual intelligence_ spark to life underneath all that fear. She saw a flash of _him, _somewhere in that terror. She saw him actually look at her— _actually_ _see her. _For the first time in a year, her brother was _seeing _her, but it was still with all that terror and panic. He dropped the sucker in his right hand for the first time since he’d gotten it, and reached up instead to latch hard onto her shoulder. He yanked her down closer to him. She started to try and speak, wracking her brain for something that would make him feel safe, but to her furthering shock, he was speaking before she had the chance.

His words were slow, and barely audible, even when she was just a couple inches away. Each whisper shook just as much as he was, currently. There was nothing to hear in his voice but horror. “…Ainsley…” Part of her was beaming the very second her name passed his trembling lips— at the proof he was aware, that he was _seeing _her. But the brief happiness was fast to be stomped away when he continued. His eyes were huge and hollow. He stared at her like she was covered head to toe in blood and had no idea why. She’d never seen someone as scared as her brother was, right this moment. _“What…_are you _doing _here?” he breathed. She faltered, confused. He gasped in hard when she was silent, hissing: “Ainsley, _what are you doing here?” _He sounded more desperate when he repeated himself.

She blinked rapidly and groped for the right thing to say. Her hand stayed against his cheek. “I— you’re—” She put on a smile for him, but it was difficult. It hurt her too much, especially when he was _still _staring at her like that. “Mal…you’re in the hospital…” she eventually managed. He jerked, a little bit of confusion crawling up underneath his fright. She tried to chase it down before she could lose it. “You’re safe— you’re not there, anymore. You’re not _there_, you’re _here— _in the hospital.”

For a second, it seemed like he was actually going to listen to her. She was begging anything and everything that could possibly be listening that he would _get _it. But fear won. Fear _always _won. He shook his head, tears beginning to form in his eyes. “You have to leave, Ains— you _have _to leave,” he whispered, sounding even more frightened. “You have to get out of here— you have to leave.” He was beginning to panic— to speak faster and in more of a rush. He was beginning to tremble. His grip got tighter. Her heart sunk to her feet. “You have to leave _you have to get out of here before he gets back you have to leave—” _

“I don’t have to go anywhere, Mal— you’re okay, you’re in—”

“You have to leave— _get out of here, Ains!” _His voice stayed soft but it was heightening with panic. He was beginning to cry, his expression breaking with horrible sorrow. “You have to get out of here— I can’t go with you, but you need to leave…you need to get out of here before it’s too late! Before he gets back…!”

_“Malcolm…_look at me!” she urged gently. She was starting to cry, too. She couldn’t help it. _“Look_ at me, Mal. _Please.” _

He did. And now, with all his fear, there was just-as-palpable sorrow. He looked heartbroken, as he stared up at her. Her hand was still on his cheek; he changed from holding tight to her shoulder, to reaching up and holding her hand instead, just as desperately. She felt when his tears started to stream down his face and make her hand wet. He clung to her hand like he had that one night he had woken up— like he was desperately trying to cling to her with everything he had. She started to tear up even more.

He saw her tears and apparently it confirmed something for him. He kept crying weakly, shaking his head. “I’m sorry…I’m _so_ sorry…for everything…” She started to argue, but he was sweeping on before she could. “I’m so sorry…I love you.” She froze. Malcolm hardly _ever _told _anyone _he loved them. Not because he didn’t— she knew very well that her older brother loved her. He was just bad when it came to emotions. He never liked to talk about his feelings, or announce them for other people. But now it was pouring out. He was practically choking on it. “I love you so much, Ains, and I’m _so_ sorry but you need to go now before it’s too late…”

She quickly wiped at her eyes with her free hand, keeping the other right where it was. “Malcolm…_look_— look how bright it is,” she urged, trying to think of what Gabrielle would do. He blinked rapidly, like he was just now noticing it. Confusion broke his fear-filled gaze again, and again, she was doing everything she could to hang onto it. _“Look, _you’re in a bed, Mal— a _hospital _bed.” She grabbed the blanket and lifted it so he could see. “There’s— a blanket, and— _pillows, Malcolm, look!” _She picked up one of the pillows and showed it to him. “Look, you have pillows! You’re in the hospital!”

He stayed unaffected. He just looked at it like he’d never seen it before. Like it was foreign.

“Malcolm…” He didn’t look at her. “_Malcolm_.” He did this time. His expression was stricken and terrified as he searched her face. She just dropped the pillow so she could hold his face in both of her hands. Her voice was pleading. “You’re _okay_,” she reassured gently. “You’re okay— you’re _safe, _we found you. You’re okay, you’re with _us…_”

He started to calm down. His breathing began to slow. But it was fast to hitch again— her face fell when she realized that his eyes were still streaming with tears. The trembling in his lips grew in severity. His expression started to crumble. She opened her mouth, scrambling for absolutely anything he could get out, but he was already beginning to cry. This cry sounded different. It was emptier. It was sadder. It was still scared, but not as much so. This was a different kind of sobbing.

He sounded heartbroken. She wasn’t sure what was wrong— if he could see her and he could see that he wasn’t back _there, _then what was the problem? She got the answer when he spoke, in nothing more than a croak. “You’re…not real…” Her heart dropped and her eyes went wider. “You’re not real, this— this isn’t real…” He closed his eyes tightly, into a deep flinch. “This isn’t real, this— I don’t want to see this, I don’t want to see this anymore…”

“Malcolm, this isn’t a dream— I’m _real, _Malcolm! You can feel me!” she pressed. She ran her hand over his cheek, trying to prove it. “See? You can feel me touching you!”

But it wasn’t connecting. Her heart broke, when she watched him continue to cry. As she wondered how many times this had happened while he was away. If he always had dreams where he was safe at home, surrounded by them, only to wake up and find himself right back in the thick of that hell. If this was the first thing he jumped to, it obviously wasn’t the first time it had happened. She tried to figure out what might convince him. “Go away…” he wept pitifully. “Go away, I can’t— I can’t do this anymore, go away, leave me alone, you’re not real…you’re not real you’re not real it’s not real…”

He trailed off into weak sobs. He refused to open his eyes again. It hurt him too much, to see her.

She hesitated, looking from him, to the door, finding herself wishing something she never thought she’d wish before, for the second time over: that her mom was here. Maybe she might be able to convince him he was safe. Right now, seeing her older brother reduced to this, Ainsley’s mind was going blank. She couldn’t think of anything but how horrified she was that this was happening— at how _enraged_ she was at the person who had done this. For a long moment she just sat, at a loss for what to do.

Eventually, she closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. She turned back to her brother. She sniffed, before she let go of his face and shifted over so that she could lay down beside him, in the tiny sliver that he wasn’t laying on. She scooted close, turning on her side and reaching her arm across him. She was careful of his left arm, but she hugged him across the chest, settling her head down on his shoulder. Malcolm started crying harder, his sobs growing in desperation. “Please…please go away,” he begged thickly. He kept his eyes shut. Too scared to open them again. “Don’t do this to me, don’t…you’re not real, you’ll just leave, please go away…I can’t take it anymore…”

She felt her own tears run down her cheeks. She was in so much pain it felt like she was on fire. She sniffed, refusing to move. Just hugging him tighter. “I’m not going anywhere, Mal…” she whispered, which just put him in more distress. She tried to ignore it. To just hold him, despite it. No matter how hard it was. “I’m not leaving you again, Mal,” she continued to murmur. “None of us are…I promise.”

He gasped in hard, his shoulders shaking with the sharp inhale. “_Stop_…get away from me…”

His right arm moved to try and push at her. It did nothing and he gave up. He let his arm go limp. He didn’t even try to say anything anymore. He just resorted to crying softly to himself. She didn’t try to say anything either. She settled against him and kept her arm around him snugly, closing her eyes so that maybe her own tears wouldn’t fall. But it was a hard feat to accomplish, with his sobs in her ears.

Regardless, she did her best.

Which she knew didn’t amount to nearly enough, for him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jessica was exhilarated. She was ecstatic. She was so excited she could barely stand still.

It didn’t seem real.

Only a few months ago she had been looking heavily through funeral home pamphlets, trying to wrap her mind around burying an empty coffin for some meager sense of closure.

Now, she was preparing to take her son _home. _

There was a lot more in front of them. A _lot _more. She wasn’t an idiot; she knew that in terms of recovery, they hadn’t nearly reached the hardest part, yet. There was a light at the end of this tunnel, but it was much too far away to even see. She knew that. But she _also _knew that they were getting there. Little by little, they would eventually get there. This wasn’t the light at the end of the tunnel, but it was a moment of brightness. A tiny sense of relief. And who was to say…maybe this was just the beginning— maybe this was a turning point, and this was when things would begin to make sense again. Maybe this was the point they could begin to heal from what Winston Price had done to them.

She was so happy, to gather up all her things. To tell the driver to follow the ambulance that was going to take them back home. She was relieved. She was ecstatic. This was good. She was happy.

She kept telling herself that. Over and over.

She smiled, kneeling down. “Malcolm…it’s time to go.” He did nothing. She reached up, pulling the blanket down. Forcing herself to look at her son and keep her smile. He was trembling, shaking like he was in subzero temperatures. His blue eyes were wide and stricken. When she pulled the blanket away his eyes were drilling for her. They flashed when they met hers. He started shaking even more. She didn’t even think that was possible. His eyes were ringed with dark bags. He hadn’t slept for two days. When their eyes met, his expression flickered. It was almost an accusing glare— a distrustful one, a hostile one. But at the same time he was too scared for those to qualify, too. It was somewhere in the gray area between.

Whatever the emotion was, it stabbed her, to have to face.

He only looked at her for a couple heartbeats, before he was looking away again. He was gripping the sucker in his hand again, holding it close to his chest. His lips barely moved when he whispered: “Get away.” The words were nothing but exhales, but they were layered with emotion. Fear, regret, sorrow, anger, suspicion. Probably more, but she was just too hurt to continue to try and dissect it. He muttered this and stayed looking away. Though he kept shaking and glaring, she saw tears beginning to glint in his eyes.

Her smile fractured. She felt her own tears sting to life. She opened her mouth but it took her a couple of seconds to get her lungs to work. “Malcolm…darling, you— you _have _to—”

_“Get away from me,” _he breathed, even sharper, even louder.

She ducked her head, so he might not see her flinch. “…Malcolm,” her voice was just a croak, “I want to—”

_“I said get away from me get away from me right now.” _He was too terrified to speak above his breathy whisper, but she could hear his desperation build. A tear fell down the side of his face. He couldn’t move to wipe it away.

She looked up, wiping her own eyes as she searched his face.

He was refusing to look at her. Her son’s scared glare stayed. Yet she caught it, when his lips shook. He started to mumble to himself. It was barely audible to her. _“It’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real…” _Over and over again. Like he was crazy.

Slowly, she stood. Her eyes never left him. Her chest felt like someone was carving into it.

This was good. This was going to be good. This was going to be the start of everything falling into place.

She was exhilarated. She was ecstatic. She was excited. She reminded herself of this.

She was relieved.

She was happy.

She was very…very happy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I wish I pray I hope you guys like this chapter better than I do!!! This thing was a jigsaw puzzle by the end of it, putting everything every which way trying to see which flowed the best. I ended up taking a lot out and having to save it for next chapter because it was getting too long. So I tried to make this as complete as I could, until next update!!! I'll be crossing my fingers this one is well-received.  
I really really hope you guys like it, and are excited for next chapter because I have a lot planned for it (I hope I can fit it all, unlike this one haha). If you guys like it I would love to hear from you!!! Every time I get a message about this fic I'm always so ecstatic and relieved, it makes my day!  
Thank you for reading!! You have no idea what it means to me!

The silence was broken gradually. It started just with stuttering breaths— hitches in a couple inhales, which were followed by heavier, shorter-than-normal exhales. The breaths got faster and sharper and heavier, until they weren’t breaths anymore, so much as they were sobs. Her eyes opened once that line was crossed, and white-hot fear and panic shot through her when not a second afterward, Malcolm began to scream.

Jessica shot up. Her mind was muddled with sleep only briefly as she stared, trying to remember where she was and what was happening. Once she did, she shoved herself to her feet so fast she nearly capsized; her body was slower than her mind was, and was still trying to figure itself out after being wrenched out of a deep sleep. She rushed for her son’s bed, half-running, half-tripping. Thank heavens she’d had the foresight to put a nightlight on nearby. The thought had first occurred just so the room wouldn’t be completely pitch black; she’d realized that darkness made his fear worse. But now she was thanking her foresight simply because at least this way she wasn’t stumbling around trying to reach him.

Malcolm was twisting and writhing in the bed. His right arm was yanking at his left shoulder, like he was trying to get something off of him. By the time she got to him, he’d rolled onto his side, screeching into the mattress. The sound was horrifying; it was bloodcurdling, like something out of a scary movie. It sounded like he was being skinned alive. There was so much terror and pain in every cry, and even when she reached out to him, he wouldn’t stop. Just over and over again, senseless, sobbing screams.

“Malcolm!” Jessica tried to keep her voice soft, despite its volume. He thrashed, starting to lash out. She had been tempted to put the restraints on him – Ainsley had brought over plenty of things from his apartment and those had been a priority – but she found she didn’t have the heart to. It was fine anyway; even _if_ he hit her, right now he was still too weak to hurt her. Even when his arm hit her a couple times, she barely even flinched. She just steadied him by the shoulder and bent low, putting her other hand against his cheek and rubbing it hard enough to hopefully get his attention. “Malcolm, sweetheart! Wake up!”

He kept screaming and sobbing. He might have been screaming actual words, but there was too much terror in his voice to make sense of it. He was blank with panic and pain. She put her head down on top of his, yelling again, struggling not to let herself get overwhelmed. She couldn’t help her son if she crumbled, too. “Sweetheart I know!” She was doing well keeping herself together, yet she couldn’t do anything about the thickness developing in her voice. She was dangerously close to crying, as she had to resort to holding her son down, hoping the pressure might wake him up. “I know, I _know, _darling, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! Wake up!”

He did. She could tell the difference when she felt him go stiff, and when one of his screams choked off into a strangled gasp. She kept her hold on him to make sure he didn’t immediately start thrashing again, but she pulled away far enough so she could look at him. Her heart broke the same way it _always _did when she had to look at him— when she had to see how terrified he was. His eyes were wild and crazy, ten times larger than normal. He was pale and trembling, even though his hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat. He gasped, looking all around at first but eventually finding her gaze and locking with it.

She made sure there was no heartache on her face— that all he saw was love and support. It was important. That was one of the many things that Gabrielle had told her. She’d told her so much, it was a miracle she retained even _half_ of it. But the moment he was looking at her, Jessica was smiling, reaching down and brushing his bangs out of his eyes. He was gasping hard, like he’d just finished running a marathon. It hurt him to breathe that fast, with his ribs still on the mend. All that twisting wasn’t helping them either. It was most likely the pain that was rooting him in place at the moment. That, and the shock.

He was paralyzed…but at least that meant he wouldn’t hurt himself even more.

“You’re alright, darling…” Jessica murmured, continuing to pull her fingers through his hair. His eyes were still foggy with sleep, even as he gawked at her. His mouth was hanging open, like he wanted to say something. But all that came out were his sobbing inhales and exhales. She shook her head, tilting it to the side a little. “It was just a bad dream, sweetheart. That’s all. You’re safe…you’re safe here, with me, there’s nothing that will harm you, I promise.” It was what she always said to him. Every time he woke up screaming, or crying. She’d memorized her script, by now. “You’re at home…you’re safe…”

He stared at her like he didn’t understand a single word. She held his face in her hands and stroked his cheeks, slowly and soothingly. This did the trick. Malcolm was so exhausted, he’d barely woken up in the first place. The second she began to run her thumbs slowly along his cheekbones, the fog of sleep that had remained to cloud his eyes was rushing back again. His eyelids grew heavy, and his head started to dip. A couple of times his right arm twitched up like he wanted to grab onto her, but he never accomplished it.

It took less than ten seconds for him to fall back asleep, after she started that. His head lolled back into his pillow and his gasping slowed until it was deep and even again. All the tension melted off his body like snow on a hot day. Jessica watched and waited, her heart still heavy. She searched his face, feeling hollow as she brushed away the last of the tear tracks marking down his cheeks. She let her hand linger for a moment before she sighed and withdrew, pausing long enough to pull the blanket back up and tuck him in the way he’d been before. The silence seemed wrong, now, after all that screeching and wailing.

She started to head back. When she stopped short and looked up in surprise. Her eyes flashed, when she tried to give Ainsley a smile. “Go back to sleep,” she murmured. Her daughter was standing in the entryway to the study they’d modified into Malcolm’s room. She looked at her brother, her expression a pool of sorrow. “He’s fine,” Jessica assured quietly, keeping her voice low so she wouldn’t disturb him.

“That’s the third time tonight…” she objected quietly.

Jessica merely looked at her in silence. There wasn’t anything to say to that.

Ainsley wilted. “Are you…_sure_ you don’t want me to—?”

“I’m fine,” she interrupted. Ainsley seemed unsure, but Jessica was adamant. “Go back to your room. Go to sleep. He’s alright…I’ve got him.” Her daughter hesitated, but reluctantly gave in. Her eyes darted one last time to her brother before she left, closing the door silently behind her. Jessica watched her go, the hollowness growing in her chest as she lingered in silence for a while. She turned, looking over at the wall and the nightlight that was plugged in. It was the same nightlight she had used for Malcolm and then for Ainsley, when they were both little. She’d been surprised it still worked. It wasn’t anything special. It was just a small bulb that gave off a yellow glow that made the room much less scary. It helped.

But she felt sick, as she looked at it. As she looked at the thing Malcolm had stopped using after he’d turned seven. Back again, to do the same job as it had before, but in a much different way.

She eventually brought herself to turn, walking back the couple strides from his bed, and settling back down again, on the floor. She’d made a makeshift bed with blankets, there. She laid down and covered back up, suddenly much too cold. And laid there for a moment on the ground, watching her son, outlined against the dark from the glow of the nightlight. He was sleeping peacefully, again. His only movement was the even rise and fall of his chest.

She hoped this time, it would last longer.

And, ignoring the dull ache in her heart and the hard floor, she closed her eyes again.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Ainsley was painfully aware of every tick of the clock’s second hand. She was lingering in the doorway of Malcolm’s room, knowing what she needed to do but agonizing over just _how_ to do it. Her mother had just left to take a shower; she could smell breakfast being made, down the hall. They were going to try and get Malcolm to eat something again, once she got out. They’d tried several times before now, and every time his response seemed to get worse. The _hungrier _he got, the more upset he grew. He was still refusing to eat, so they couldn’t take the feeding tube out. They were stuck in a vicious cycle.

They were hoping this time it would be better, but that was what they’d hoped _last_ time, too. So she stood, hesitating. Staring sorrowfully at her brother and agonizing over whether or not she should wake him because she knew the second he did, all his peace would disintegrate. If she woke him up, she would be ripping all of that away from him. But she knew there wasn’t much of a choice. She forced her legs to move. Her brother was sound asleep, breathing deeply and regularly. His forehead wasn’t creased with pain. He wasn’t scared. All of those things were going to change, once she reached out to touch his shoulder.

But mid-reach, she stopped. She froze, and thought, before her eyes flashed and she drew back. The side of her mouth lifted up into a half-smile. She reached into her pocket, and pulled out her phone. She scrolled through her apps until she found the right one, and brightened as she sat down on the edge of his bed. She selected the playlist she’d been working— the playlist that had about doubled in size every single day Malcolm was gone. It had slipped her mind. But now, it was coming back to her.

She had so many songs on there, she couldn’t possibly pick one. She put it on shuffle and adjusted the volume, so that it wouldn’t be too loud. She didn’t want to startle him. She just wanted to wake him up the way he _usually_ woke up. When she heard the bright, tinkling music, she began to brighten. A smile traced itself over her face as the music gently broke the quiet. Malcolm’s head shifted a little; his eyes started to move, behind his eyelids. But he didn’t _really_ start waking up until the words started to come.

_‘Here comes the sun…here comes the sun, and I say: it’s alright.’ _

Malcolm took in a slower, deeper breath. His eyes started to flutter open; the only reason he was moving so slowly was because he was so tired. She felt a little bad. But at the same time, she felt nothing but happiness, that she was finally able to get him to listen to this playlist. To all the songs she’d picked with him in mind. _‘Little darling, it’s been a long, cold, lonely winter.’ _His eyes finally pried themselves open. Initially, he just stared. There wasn’t much in them, to see. They were blank, with exhaustion. But as he came back to himself, and he recognized what it was that had woken him up, his eyes dragged themselves over towards the noise— towards _her. _

_‘Little darling, it feels like years, since it’s been here…’ _

She was practically lighting up his room just as well as the nightlight by his bed did. “Good morning.” Her voice was warm and loving. Malcolm did nothing; he just stared at her in groggy silence. _‘Here comes the sun…here comes the sun, and I say: it’s alright.’ _The second he looked at her, she was doing her best to try and see what he was going to be like, today. She was trying to see whether or not there was clarity to him— sense. Whether he was mad, scared, or just absolutely nothing at all.

As she tried to discern, she kept her voice bright. “Mom asked if I would wake you up. Once she gets down here, we’re gonna have breakfast.” His eyes dragged around the room for a second; she saw his gears turning and she was begging him mentally to _get it. _But no…there was no recollection, to see. Not yet. There usually wasn’t, in the morning, anyway. It took some time…usually later on in the day, was when they could get him to make sense— he wouldn’t _believe_ them or _listen_ to him, but at least he was halfway there. For now, just waking up, there was nothing in his eyes. Nothing but hollow, tired, frightened confusion. Disappointment hollowed out her chest, but she fought not to let it seep into her voice. “We’re having…scrambled eggs. And French toast. With powdered sugar…”

_‘Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces. Little darling, it seems like years, since it’s been here.’ _

“Malcolm?” she pressed, warily. Her brother stared emptily into space. When he heard her voice, he twitched. His right hand was still clenched tight around that sucker, but his arm jerked as if he was going to yank the blanket back over his head. She stopped him before he could. Quick as a flash, she reached out and put her hand down on it enough to prevent him from doing so. He tried to yank against her anyway but he wasn’t strong enough and he knew it. His lower lip trembled and his blue eyes broke with a certain amount of desperation…but he fell still. He gave up so quickly. Ainsley’s heart wrenched. “Malcolm? …Can you look at me, Mal?”

He didn’t. He was empty. His lips shook again, and her stomach twisted when she saw that already, his eyes were getting shinier. Catching the dim light of the morning and throwing it back to her.

_‘Here comes the sun. Here comes the sun. And I say…’_

Her face fell. Her mouth went dry. She couldn’t speak anymore.

All she could do was stare at him. And feel her heart sink right down to her feet.

_‘It’s alright…’_

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

December 7th. 5:04 pm.

The sound of the whip hitting against his back was earsplitting. At first, Malcolm’s resounding scream was even louder than that, and even more painful to listen to. The crack of the whip stayed just as loud, but gradually, over time, Malcolm’s screams began to decay. As did his fighting. At first he fought…he fought like _hell_, like he always did. He was starved and already wasted of precious muscle, but it had taken Winston a _while_ to get his hands locked into the cuffs that were hanging from the ceiling. Even when he had locked him into place, Malcolm had still yanked and pulled like there was something he could do. Even though he knew just as well as JT did that there was no hope.

Winston had yanked his shirt off, before he’d locked him in the cuffs. It showed off just how much muscle he’d already lost…how _clearly_ his ribs were already able to be seen. They were like tree branches, jutting out of his skin. At first, Malcolm was furious. Through the first series of whips, his screaming was filled with pain, but it was also bathed in rage. He was angry as he screamed, yanking against the chains and spitting out insults when it became clear bargaining wasn’t an option. But it was fast to change.

It took less than twelve strikes for him to start faltering. For him to start gasping and choking more than he was snapping out in anger. His back was already covered in blood. His screaming had heightened with desperation. The pain started to become _all _that was in his voice. _Twenty _lashes in, and he was crying, starting to stagger as his legs bent and shook underneath him, too overwhelmed by agony to provide proper support. He still screamed, but they were weaker and crumbled far too easily into cries. Twenty-seven lashes in and his back was torn and ripped, reduced to nothing but gaping, deep lacerations that were only worsening somehow, with every new swing. And Winston wasn’t letting up anytime soon.

With every blow, he was mocking him— sneering at his screaming which was gradually being broken down right along with him. “What’s _wrong?” _he demanded. _Thwack. _“Can’t handle the pain!?” _Thwack. _“Maybe if you try _begging, _I’ll stop!” _Thwack. _

He did. Malcolm _did. _By lash twenty-nine, he was begging senselessly, screaming desperately in a too-hoarse voice. _“Stop! Please, please stop please stop I can’t take any—!” Thwack. _His begs broke off into a horrible, gut-wrenching howl when Winston just ignored him and hit him again. That made thirty, and with the number, his knees finally gave out. He buckled, dropping and being forced to hang solely on his arms, which pulled the skin of his back even more. Malcolm’s head hung and yet another horror-inspiring wail wrenched itself out of his mouth. It was as if Winston was spurred on, by it.

By lash thirty-three, Malcolm’s screams were just choked whimpers. He didn’t try to fight against his bonds or avoid the whip; he just hung limp, too overwhelmed to do anything else. By thirty-six, he wasn’t even whimpering anymore. When Winston struck him, he twitched or went into a spasm, but that was it. He was barely aware anymore, by whip forty. Winston was regarding him with icy satisfaction. He whipped him again, and this time Malcolm didn’t move at all. “You still with me, Whitly?” he demanded. Malcolm said and did nothing. He hit him again, this time putting renewed force behind the strike. Malcolm’s hands twitched hard, but that was it. “You better not have passed on me, Whitly!” he warned. “Otherwise we’re gonna start over!” When he remained still, anger flooded Winston’s face. He hit him again, even harder, screaming: _“Whitly!”_

Malcolm yelped weakly. Winston let his arm drop for a moment, when he heard this. His eyes narrowed. “You still awake?” he demanded. Malcolm didn’t lift his head, but after a long couple of seconds, he did speak. It wasn’t anything intelligible. It was too slurred and quiet to make sense of…if it even made sense in the first place. JT tasted his anger like bile when Winston smirked. He readied his arm again, shaking it out. “Six more, Whitly. Then we’ll have hit a _nice_, even fifty.”

He hit him again. And again, and again. Malcolm could only twitch and whine pathetically.

Again. One more time. Malcolm’s head lolled with the strike.

And the final one. By now, so much blood had run down his back that it was making a small pool on the floor. “You made it through!” Winston fake-cheered. Without warning or hesitation, he reached up and unlocked Malcolm’s wrists, one quickly after the other. He fell to the ground like a million-pound weight. The instant he saw his back, JT was covering his mouth, finding himself making a specific effort to keep his stomach at bay. It looked like it had been reduced down to ground meat. Blood was _everywhere, _and still gushing dark scarlet out of lacerations and slices that were far too deep. Once Malcolm hit the floor, he didn’t move at all. The smallest twitch, would put him in a world of agony.

“Congratulations,” Winston continued, nudging his shoulder a little with his foot. Though the pressure wasn’t concentrated on his back, it was close enough. Just this tiny prod was eliciting a tiny wail from him. It made Winston’s smirk triple in size. “You know…you deserve a little credit,” he acknowledged. He crouched beside him, bending low so he could see his face and all the agony was written there. “You’ve lasted _much _longer than any of the others. Do you know what month it is?” Malcolm was quietly crying into the floor. He didn’t answer. Winston scowled, reaching out and shoving his shoulder, this time. This earned a stronger, louder scream, however short. “I asked if you knew what _month it is!” _Winston snapped.

Malcolm kept weeping, but at least this time he managed to shake his head.

“It’s December.” Malcolm’s left hand clenched into a shaking fist. His crying grew louder. “You’ve almost lasted _seven months. _That’s more than _half a year!_ Kaelyn barely managed a fraction of the time!” He reached out, grabbing his head by the back of the hair and yanking. When Winston pulled him up, it made his back arch. He screamed, his lips trembling, but it wasn’t very loud. There was a certain glassiness to his eyes that showed that by now, he wasn’t all the way there. The sheer amount of pain was making him shut down. “You can take quite a lot, can’t you?” Winston mused. Malcolm didn’t need to answer. The injuries that could be seen on him was answer enough as they were.

Winston looked him over for a couple more seconds, before the edge of his lips pulled up into a sly smile. He dropped Malcolm, who immediately took relief in the fact. Winston kept watching him closely, but there was something different about his voice when he continued speaking. _“You _can take a beating…but so could I. Enduring pain…that’s _nothing_. Not when you compare it to seeing someone _else _in pain. Someone you care about.” At first, it wasn’t connecting. But as he continued, Malcolm started to catch on “Throughout my three days, it was actually the _easiest _time for me…when he decided he’d hurt _me_. The hardest parts were when he was hurting my mother. Or…my _sister.”_

Malcolm forced his head up, despite the agony that lanced down his back. He was trying to force the glassiness out of his eyes…to force himself back into focus. “I wonder how you would fare…having to watch your pretty little sister get hurt…” Winston mused. _This _did it. The absolute _fury_ that was sparked by this was enough to banish some of the fogginess away. Malcolm’s eyes began to narrow. He was small and pale and weak, but suddenly there was so much warning and poison in his scowl, it was fit to kill.

This was exactly what Winston wanted.

“I wonder how you would do, having to watch _her _get whipped…or beaten, or starved…” Malcolm gritted his teeth. Blindly, he lashed out, not even trying to time his swing. Winston leaned back easily from the attempt. He looked amused by the pitiful effort. “It would be so easy…it wouldn’t even take me all night. I could be there and back in less than three hours…with her right in tow with me.” Malcolm’s scowl dripped with fury as he glowered at him. His breathing was already fast, but with this, he started breathing even faster— even louder. It just made Winston smile all the more.

He leaned a little closer, his eyes taking on a cruel, wicked gleam. “Maybe I should do that…” he hissed. _“Sure, _you can _take _the pain…you can bite through it, you can breathe through the agony…but to have to _sit there…_and _watch someone else’s…_you can’t _breathe _through that…you can’t pretend you’re okay…no…that’s not easy…_that’s _what’s _really _hard…” He grabbed Malcolm’s hair once more, so he could yank his head up again. This time, he held him up higher; Malcolm tried to fumble and brace himself up with his arms, but after hanging dependent for so long, he couldn’t get them to move. He was helpless in his grasp. He cried out, but Winston ignored him. He just lifted him up more, so he could snarl into his ear.

“How would you like _that? _If I brought your pretty little sister here, too?” He tilted his head to the side. “If you had to watch as I hurt her…broke her down piece by little piece, just like I’ve been doing to you? What would you do, then? Would you still be as strong as you think you are?” He surveyed him, his smile growing sicker. He yanked him closer, ignoring Malcolm’s tiny scream. “How would you do, having to watch as I _break every bone in her body?” _Malcolm was struggling to stay angry, but he was quickly beginning to weaken. His expression was starting to crumble. His lips were beginning to shake. “Would you like to watch, and listen to her beg and scream and cry?”

“Don’t…_don’t touch her,” _he spat.

“Maybe you’d like to watch _everything,” _he sneered. He let go of him, without warning; he was falling back to the ground. He glared tearfully up at Winston, who just snickered. He reached out, running his fingers through his hair but clenching at the last second, grabbing a fistful and just yanking his head to the side, so could see him better. He leaned over him, barely hissing these next words. “You think she’d make a better fuck than you?” Malcolm jerked again, trying everything he could to hit him. Winston just moved to slam a foot down hard on his hand. Malcolm’s cry was pathetic and desperate. Winston forced him to look at him, taking far too much pleasure in the look of distress that was there. His eyes flashed when he snickered: “You think she’d be able to suck me off as well as _you _can?”

_This _inspired so much rage that despite the searing pain, he wrenched his hand out from underneath his foot and landed a punch square in the jaw. He put as much force as he could into it, but it only ended up tipping him a little off balance. Winston looked more irritated than he did anything else. He scowled, when he looked back at Malcolm, who met his glare with a just-as-withering glower. The man shoved himself up to his feet. Before Malcolm had the chance to react in any kind of defense, or even say anything smart, his captor suddenly stomped as hard as he could onto his back.

Malcolm screeched at the contact, but Winston did him one worse: he planted his toe and twisted harshly. Malcolm’s screaming choked off in a new source of agony so great it rendered him breathless. As Winston twisted his foot and dragged it down fast and hard, all that could be heard was tearing flesh. He shoved off of Malcolm and took another couple steps back, his eyes flinty and cold. For a while, Malcolm stayed silent; his eyes were wide and his mouth was stretched wide but he couldn’t even breathe in.

It was nearly a full minute before he could. The second he was drawing in air he was releasing it, in the loudest, most guttural scream yet. Once he started, he couldn’t stop. All he could do was scream and howl, over and over again. Winston watched him for far too long, his eyes narrowed almost critically as he watched him suffer. Eventually, he grew bored. Malcolm kept screeching, choking and wailing and sobbing into the ground, until he reared his foot back and kicked out again, this time right in his head.

The instant he did, Malcolm stopped screaming. He was thrown to the side with the force but he was dead to it. He rolled back a little, his head ending up facing the camera. His eyes were closed and his face was clear. He’d been kicked right into unconsciousness. An unfortunate respite. But respite all the same. Winston stared at him and the sheer amount of blood that was joining the past stains on the ground. He left him like that, not even bothering to make sure he wouldn’t bleed out and die while he was away.

This time, when the camera kept rolling, Malcolm didn’t move a muscle.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Leeches. It’s all they were. Starving for blood, and latching onto the nearest thing that was wounded and bleeding out. That was why they were gathered around her home, refusing to leave. That was why nobody could leave this house without being bombarded by flashes, by cameras, by questions demanding any and all information. When Martin was arrested, they had been the same way. When Malcolm first went missing, for at least the first week they’d stayed, asking her point-blank how it felt to lose her son, not caring about the repercussions of the inquiry. And now here they were again, clambering to know any scrap of menial information they could use to their advantage, while her son was just trying to recover.

Jessica hated the press. She _despised _them.

She stood, scowling out the window at the mass of people. They turned her stomach.

Footsteps made her turn. Ainsley was walking into the room. She looked weary. Jessica was certain she did as well. “He fell asleep,” her daughter murmured.

Jessica nodded slowly. “That’s good…he didn’t sleep much last night…” She looked back outside.

Ainsley went up to stand beside her. “They’re all still out there?” A pointless question.

“It seems so,” she sighed. “Must be a slow news day.” It was a bad attempt at a joke. Ainsley said nothing. A couple of moments passed in silence, before Jessica’s forehead creased with a sudden thought. She looked at her, much more closely. “Has…your network…?”

“Not yet,” Ainsley replied, not looking at her. She hesitated before she murmured, “But…I know they will. Eventually.”

“What will you say?” she dared to ask.

Her daughter’s eyes flashed. She took her time to answer. “I’ll…tell them…it’ll be up to Malcolm,” she murmured eventually. Jessica’s eyebrows rose with surprise. Her daughter shook her head. “I hurt him before…just to get a…_stupid _story. I’m not gonna hurt him again.” Her eyes were raw with pain. “He’s been hurt enough…I should be the last person to add to that pain. I should _always _be the last to add to that pain. I know that now.” She couldn’t even recognize her brother anymore, and it terrified her. She didn’t want to _tell _anyone about it because she didn’t even want to know about it herself.

She couldn’t even put it into words anyway. The terror she felt every time she bolted up in bed, hearing him screeching and begging and sobbing for the fifth time that night. How it felt to watch her mother beg him to eat and just watch him shake and cry. How it felt when – in his moments of ‘lucidity’ – he would just glare daggers at her or rock himself and whisper that nothing was real. How sometimes, if she sat still enough and made no noise, he would forget she was there at all and mumble to himself— words so soft and fast they were impossible to hear. She couldn’t find a way to describe it correctly, because it hurt too much. No words would do it justice.

And what else did she have, to say? That she spent an entire year doing absolutely nothing? Not helping him at all? What kind of ‘story’ was that?

“It’ll be Malcolm’s choice, on whether or not he wants to speak about it,” she insisted quietly.

There was a pressure on her shoulder and she turned to her mother.

She was smiling at her…sadly, but happily at the same time. “Thank you,” she murmured. Ainsley offered a one-shouldered shrug at first. But then her mother added even quieter, “I’m sure your brother would appreciate that…nobody else is thinking about him, with this. We have to be the ones who _do_.”

This, for some reason, made her throat a little hot. She ended up just nodding her head. It was all she could manage.

Neither of them said anything else. They just looked back out the window. Mutual disdain and sorrow alike on their faces.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

December 10th. 6:21 am.

“Nnnn— you’rrrre…sss— you can’…don’…Ain…sss…yyyyyyyou…got’a…lllea…vvv…”

Light was beginning to creep back into the room as outside, the sun rose higher in the sky.

It shed light on everything that the dark had mercifully taken upon itself to hide.

JT was surprised Malcolm even _woke up. _Hell…he was fucking _floored _that the kid was still _alive. _

His eyes were barely open. They were hazy and though they were focused on a certain point somewhere, it was very clear he wasn’t actually looking _at _anything. His hair was damp and sticking to his face with sweat, despite the fact his body was wracked with shivers so violent, he looked like he was seizing. His back was black with dried blood. Every shiver and unspeakable agony must have seared through him, and yet all that got past his lips were pathetic squeaks and chokes of pain. For a while, those had been the only noises at all.

But now, this sound was joining them. These incoherent, barely-there fragments of sentences.

Or…what he could only _guess _were meant to be sentences.

Malcolm’s eyes were rolling back into his head, but he was still trying to keep them open, still focused on something JT couldn’t see. He was fighting tooth and nail just to stay awake, but he was fighting even more to speak, even though none of it made sense. “Ssshhh…n’…I…w’nna…m’fiiiiine…” His expression was dazed and foggy but his distress was plain to see. His eyes fluttered closed again but his lips kept twitching. Shoving out words, even though they were only half-built. “Aaaa…don’ trrrr…y’ gotta…get ou—…ge’out, Ains…llll….pl— …plea…” He was sick. _Really _sick. Malcolm had gotten sick before, but never like this. Never _this_ bad.

His voice was rasping and chipped—near nonexistent. If JT had paid enough attention – and unfortunately he was sure he had – this would be his third day without water. Something that wasn’t helping his delirium. But in a way, it _had_ helped…at least _now _he wasn’t throwing up. Not _anymore_. He didn’t have the body fluid for it. Long ago, he’d gotten to the point where he was too weak to even try and drag the bucket over to him. He’d just gotten sick right there…over and over. Thankfully, he’d been on his side. But he couldn’t stop. Dried vomit was everywhere…down his shirt, down his chin, on his cheek, in his hair…he didn’t even notice it. He was too far gone.

He just kept whispering. “Ai…s…wha—…ge’…nnnnno, no plea…se…” JT closed his eyes briefly, swallowing hard and rubbing his forehead. His stomach churned as Malcolm started to try and fight to move towards whatever it was he was seeing. He lifted his arm…but only a fraction off the ground. He reached out. The fuzzy horror on his face was only growing. “Wai…s’op…s’op, wai…” His other arm moved, grabbing onto the ground like he wanted to start pulling himself. He couldn’t. All he could do was scrabble pathetically. He just tried harder, growing more panicked.

“A…Ai’s…s—…s’op, _stop i’…leave ‘er…leave ‘er al’ne…!_” His arm dropped back to the ground. He was beginning to gasp shallowly— the only form of hyperventilation he could manage, in this state. He twisted like he was going to try and get up on his hands and knees, but just the beginning of that effort was too much. So much pain blinded him from of the shift, he couldn’t even scream. For a second, his eyes rolled back into his head. A horrible choking noise grated out of his throat and after going rigid, he relaxed and fell still. JT grimaced as he passed out. When he didn’t move again, he fast-forwarded. But he was only unconscious for about twelve seconds before his eyes were dragging themselves open again. Somehow.

JT had _no_ idea where he kept all that fight. Or how he was still hanging on.

His eyes were even murkier, but he still looked _right back_ at that space where nothing was. He whined and whimpered, resorting to moving his arms again to try and drag himself without any luck. He looked terrified. “Aiiin…s! S’op, le’ve ‘er…le’ve ‘her alone, _stop!_ S’op, _please! Please, stop, please s’op it, please…!”_ His shoulders started shaking even more. If he had the water for it, tears would have been streaming down his face. But he didn’t; he sobbed, but there was nothing else to give. He was trying to scream, but his throat was too ruined for that. His words could hardly chip their way out to begin with. “I— ‘ll do ‘nythin’, I’ll— hurt me, hurt m’ ins’ead, _please, please jus’ hurt me ins’ead…!_

_“Please…pl’se, don’ hurt ‘er ple’se…” _His head went slack, dropping the tiny distance he’d raised it off the floor and lolling to the side. He was choking on sobs of pain and sorrow alike. Every cry that shook his body just added to his pain— made him go into spasms of agony, that just made him blearier. A domino effect that couldn’t last much longer. His head fell to the side, his voice chipping away and refusing to work anymore. It wasn’t anything more than a breathy, desperate hiss that was painful just to listen to. “Ple’se…hurt me…hurt m’ don’…don’ hurt, she— sh’s m’ little sist’…pl…” Like a broken record.

His voice was riddled with squeaks and whimpers of pain as he started begging in a breathy whisper: “Jus’ hur’me…jus’ kill me, kill me ins’ead…jus’ kill m’ please _kill me, jus’ kill me_…”

JT couldn’t bring himself to listen anymore. He skipped through it.

Knowing Malcolm would have given anything to have that same option.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

When the doorbell rang, Ainsley went to get it. She knew it was already being gotten by Louisa, but she left regardless. She needed a break anyway…she needed a chance to stop and breathe. The day had just started but at the same time, it had already been far too long. The weight on her chest was building faster, like it usually did whenever they were trying with Malcolm and it just wasn’t working. They’d been trying for the past ten minutes to get him to eat any bit of breakfast. He wasn’t so much as _looking_ at them; when they would try and press it would just make him worse. Whenever he _did_ speak, it was just the same tiny whisper.

He repeated himself a million times, but they still had no idea what ‘I’m not hungry enough’ _meant._

So when the doorbell rang, Ainsley quickly ducked out of the room, leaving in the middle of her mother’s seventh beg that minute for him to eat _just a little bit. _She’d already heard him refusing in that same whisper, as she went down the hall. As she left and headed for the front door she took in a few deep breaths, trying to reorient herself. She reached up and wiped at her eyes, thankful she hadn’t put on makeup today. She likely wouldn’t, just knowing herself.

If their routine was to follow like the last few days had since they’d gotten home, _if _Malcolm ever reached a point where he wasn’t so scared and he caught a little bit of his clarity back, the farthest he would go would be to glare at them— to think they were all some figment of his imagination and that they weren’t actually there. He would snap at them and tell them to leave him alone, or he would ignore them entirely. Yesterday, he’d spent the entire day either sleeping, or staring off into space. At around nine at night, he’d actually looked at her, and of course, he’d immediately gotten distressed. He’d asked her to leave, he’d hit on his head, he’d yelled at himself to snap out it. Eventually, he’d just started rocking back and forth, mumbling to himself: “It’s not real, it’s not real” again…refusing to stop or acknowledge them until he eventually tired himself out and fell back asleep.

He hadn’t gotten that far yet, today. He was still just scared, especially with the fact they were trying to get him to eat.

But she figured it was only a matter of time. And it would hurt just as much. So makeup would be a waste.

By the time she got to the foyer, they were already being let inside. Despite herself, she smiled, like she always did when she saw just how many people were worried for her brother. And she smiled even more when she caught sight of Gil. He was tired…he _always_ looked tired, nowadays…but then again, she imagined they all did. His hair was a little messier than normal, like he hadn’t had the time or energy to even brush it. His eyes were dull with exhaustion and pain. Nothing about him really inspired relief. And yet when she saw him, she was smiling. She felt a little better.

When he saw her, he smiled, too. He still looked exhausted and hindered, but he brightened when his eyes found hers. She warmed. She walked over, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. His smile immediately grew. He hugged her back twice as tight. When she pulled away he kept his hands on her shoulders and gave them a little squeeze. Even though she knew that his response would likely be to lie, she asked anyway. “How are you?”

Sure enough, he smiled weakly and returned, “I’m fine…how are you?”

She lied right back. “I’m good.” They held one another’s gazes for a second, both silently calling the other out, before she tore herself away. She looked at the rest of the team. They hadn’t come to see Malcolm yet, since he’d gotten here. It had only been a few days. Here they were, already more than eager to see whether or not any progress had been made. “Hi,” she said, a little stupidly, just because she didn’t know what else to say. “It’s…it’s good to see you guys again.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” Dani had only said it to be polite. That much was apparent when she hastily rushed on to ask, “How is he doing?” The second she did, everyone wasn’t smiling at much anymore. They all dropped their facades, their smiles crumbling away into their anxiety, bottled back before, but bursting open now. Even JT was staring at her with intensity that let her know he didn’t care about anything but him. Which, she knew going in. But still, when they all stared at her hungrily, she felt her stomach twist.

She hated that question. It never sat well with her. Not that she didn’t like that they were worried. She just didn’t like it because whenever she was faced with it again, she had to also face the fact that her answer _still _had not changed. It was always the same, no matter how many times they asked. Every time she was faced with it again, she had to once again _also _face the fact that nothing had changed. That her brother was the exact same as he’d been the last time they’d seen him. The last time they’d asked.

She forced a smile, telling herself that she just had to keep in mind the fact they were worried. That was all it was. Yet at the same time, she found herself making the conscious effort to try and word her response differently, so they might not realize they were still stagnant. “He’s…he’s doing well,” she started, feeling her chest pang when she saw them all start to smile. “He’s…we’ve been working on getting him back on his medicine, they say…they say that’ll help him come to terms with…all that’s happening.

“He’s…still a little confused. But he’s taking more naps during the day, now, that…kinda evens out the hours he loses at night.” She pauses, gnawing on the inside of her bottom lip for a second, before she shook her head. “It’s slow…but we’re working on it. He’s getting better every day, little by little.” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. She hoped somewhere along the line, being on camera had given her the capability to be able to be a better liar, so they wouldn’t see right through her. She didn’t want to wait to find out. Instead, she cleared her throat and changed topics. “We can go see him!” she suggested. They all nodded. She started to turn and head back, when she stopped short, remembering herself.

She looked back at them, her expression weakening a little. “He’s…Mom is trying to get him to eat breakfast.” The way she said it was almost apologetic. And she _was_. The way they were staring at her made it clear they had no idea why that was an issue. She opened her mouth to explain, but for some reason she couldn’t find the right words. She fumbled at first, like she might figure it out. But she ended up just giving up and turning back around, her heart heavy in her chest as she started back the way she’d come.

She didn’t speak the entire way, so nobody else did. Their footsteps sounded much too loud.

They were so quiet, they could hear Jessica’s voice from down the hall. Ainsley was already grimacing, the very second she heard her, and heard that her voice had not changed. That in fact, she sounded even more strained than she had when Ainsley had walked out. “Malcolm…_darling? _Just…_one _bite? Just _one?” _Ainsley glanced back at everyone one more time; this time, to them, her apologetic look was beginning to make sense. The double doors that led to the study they’d renovated into his room were paneled with windows. They could see into it already, even before Ainsley opened them again.

Her mother was sitting at his bedside. She’d set up a tray so he could sit up and eat. But he wasn’t. They’d tried to make it better by giving him less at a time, just in case _that_ was part of the issue and he was just too overwhelmed by how much there was. They were still trying to get him to drink fortified smoothies. But besides that, they’d only given him a couple things. There was a small bowl of rice, and a plate of fruit. There was whole-grained toast with peanut butter on it. If he ate even just that _little bit, _it would mean the world, in more ways than one.

Jessica was nudging the bowl of rice closer, but he didn’t notice. He was looking off to the side, just like he had been when Ainsley had walked out. His eyebrows were knitted with fright and apprehension and discomfort. When she walked in, she realized he was shaking— he hadn’t been when she’d left…he was getting more uncomfortable. But her mother was still struggling. “Sweetheart— just have a _little.”_

He still refused. She was about to try again, but when Ainsley let them all in she roused, turning and looking over at them. When her eyes caught Gil’s, she was faltering. Her eyes flashed, and the smile that was just barely beginning to grow over her face at their arrival was dying immediately. Gil’s own face fell and he opened his mouth; but she’d already turned back to her son. Her expression was even darker than it had been before.

When the door opened, Malcolm’s eyes had flickered to them. At first, he just saw Ainsley. But when the rest filed after, his eyes found Gil’s. They widened, and for a second, they were stuck. Until Gil looked back at him. Ainsley watched carefully, and her heart ripped when she saw the sheer amount of pain that came over his expression when he realized Malcolm was locking up with even more distress. He was already so pale, but somehow whatever color his face was clinging to drained away. Gil took a tiny step closer, but immediately, Malcolm was reacting poorly.

He wrenched his head away. His breathing picked up a little and before Jessica could even try to move the plate again, he was reaching up and nudging it away. She tried to resist him, trying weakly: “Malcolm— dear, look at me, okay? We need to eat, we need to—” She broke off, cringing and yanking her arm back when Malcolm all but pushed the plate away again. He almost shoved it right off the tray. He turned again, fixing his terrified eyes on the corner of the room and refusing to look away, this time.

His voice was quiet, and trembling when he whispered, “I’m not hungry enough…”

JT perked.

Jessica closed her eyes, letting out a hollow sigh. “Sweetheart…” She tried to reach for his arm, but the second he felt her fingertips, he was shrugging her off violently. She gave up, wilting all over again. She looked at Ainsley, her eyes narrowing. But her reproach especially built when she threw a glare in Gil’s direction. “You should have waited. Or _asked,” _she snapped. She kept her voice low but it was difficult. Malcolm must have heard her anger anyway; he was squeezing his eyes shut, when she spoke.

“They wanted to see him,” Ainsley murmured back.

Jessica’s words were biting when she hissed: “Well now there’s not a _chance _of him eating, _is there?” _Ainsley tried to glare at her, at the sudden bite. But her chest was too empty to hang onto anger. Her hands clenched briefly, but when she looked at her brother and how sick and scared he was, she lost it all. Instead, her face fell and her shoulders slouched. She ended up looking down at the ground, the way a kid would if they were caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Everyone in the group was looking at Malcolm; Edrisa was looking at him sympathetically, while Dani’s expression was pinched with sorrow and a certain kind of horror, that he had been reduced to this. Gil’s face was hardest of all to see. The older man was staring at him almost the same way he had been staring at him on the floor of that warehouse…because, to him, he was practically the same as that. _Still, _he was the same. He was still the same small and skinny…still weak and most of all _frightened. _He was shaking even more than he’d been earlier, and Gil knew it was because of him.

He stared at him like he was mourning him. Close to tears.

The whole group looked close to tears, really.

All except for JT.

He was staring at him, but the expression he wore was harder to read. His lips were pressed into a firm line as he stood and digested what he’d heard. He didn’t want to speak up…but he did. His voice was just a mumble. “Has he eaten at all, yet?”

Jessica looked surprised. An almost accusatory look came over her face, as if she thought he was criticizing her. She looked like she was ready to snap at him. But when she looked up, she was stopping short at the look on his face. There was no malice, or judgement. He didn’t even look away from Malcolm. He just stared at him in that thoughtful way nobody else could quite discern.

She answered slowly. “No…” she murmured. Her eyes flickered up to the tube feed that was still set up at his bedside. “We have nurses in and out frequently…at least twice a day, in the morning and night. They’re…keeping up these feedings still…but obviously they _want_ him to start eating. He just…” She looked at her son searchingly. Sorrowfully. She just shook her head and let it die there.

JT stared at him for another couple seconds. Dani and Gil were looking at him oddly, by now. His silence was unnerving in itself, but the look on his face was just making it worse. This wasn’t like him— something was off. “And…he said…?”

“He just says he’s not hungry,” Jessica sighed. “He _says _he’s never hungry _enough _to eat, which…I don’t know what to do with.” JT’s eyes flashed. There was something on his face that was almost akin to pain. Gil and Dani’s strange looks were only getting stranger. But he still wasn’t looking at them. “I asked the nurses, but they said the feeding isn’t _going _fast enough to actually make him feel _full. _They even lowered the rate, last night, so he might be even hungrier, but…he still just says it over and over again. I’ve tried every which way…I’ve tried different _foods, _different _times, _but nothing…”

Malcolm had stopped shaking as much, but he was still refusing to look at any of them. JT’s eyes went to all the food. He was only growing more thoughtful. “Tell him—” He broke off. Jessica looked up at him, frowning again. In less than two seconds, JT had everyone’s attention with the small stutter. He locked his jaw back, when he noticed. He looked at everyone. The atmosphere was suddenly ten times as heavier as it had been. If someone dropped a pin, it would probably make everyone jump in its volume.

It took JT about an entire thirty seconds to scrounge up the courage to speak. When he did, he couldn’t explain himself as well as he wanted to. He thought he’d had something…but in the end, all he got out was a quiet, stiff: “Tell him he doesn’t have to do anything.”

Confusion rolled over Jessica’s face like a cloud. “He doesn’t…what? Why would he…?” She looked at Malcolm, as though she was expecting an answer from him. “Why would he think he has to…what do you mean— ‘do anything?’” she demanded.

JT looked at Dani and Gil. But they looked just as confused as Jessica did.

He hadn’t shown them those.

He was the only one that knew. That could _connect _the two.

His mouth ran dry. Malcolm’s voice rang in his ears…thin, and pleading.

_‘Please, JT, _don’t let anyone else see them…don’t let them see me like this. Don’t let them know what…’

Malcolm was still ducked away, barely even breathing, as if he was scared of what might happen if he breathed too loud. For a couple more seconds, all JT could do was stand there and stare. He was frozen. He wasn’t sure what made him finally move— what made his mind snap out of its lapse. He didn’t even really know he was going to start walking, until he started. Slowly, he started towards the bed. Jessica stiffened and opened her mouth, but nothing ended up coming out.

He walked closer— not on the side Jessica was, but on the other. That way, he could walk into Malcolm’s line of vision. When he did, Malcolm stiffened and immediately twisted his head even more, so that he could keep averting his eyes. He was hugging himself tightly, digging his fingernails into his skin. He was beginning to shake again. Jessica stood, and opened her mouth again, this time resolving to speak out— to tell him to stop, to leave her son alone. But JT was talking before she had the chance. “Hey…Malcolm…” He cringed, trembling even more. JT’s eyes flashed. He fixed himself. “Bright.”

Malcolm’s eyes snapped open. He stared wide-eyed at the blankets but didn’t lift his head. His shaking stopped, in his brief surprise. JT swept on as fast as he could, to try and hang onto that. “Bright…you wanna look at me?” JT wasn’t the best when it came to talking to victims. He was much better suited trying to wrench answers out of people he knew were guilty. It was harder for him to talk like this…to make his voice soft and quiet, and to pick his words carefully, so he wouldn’t set them off. He realized it was even harder to do that when the victim was Bright.

When he knew what had happened to him, because he had seen it all.

“Bright…look at me, man,” he urged.

At first, Malcolm didn’t. He kept staring at the blankets, breathing heavily. But eventually, he lifted his eyes, little by little inch. His lips were shaking, and his breathing stayed fast. But JT felt a marginal sense of relief when he met his gaze. His blue eyes were burning with fright and confusion and dread. He tried to keep his head level, and think around that. He tried to make sure he was still thinking. Saying what he knew Malcolm needed to hear…had probably needed to hear this entire _time. _

JT nodded towards the food. “You gotta eat, Bright…” he murmured.

He got the reaction he knew he would. Malcolm’s expression broke, with a mix of desperation and fear. JT was dreading the response, but at the same time, when he _did _say what he was anticipating, it confirmed it. Just like he’d said all those months ago on the recordings, he said it now— just much weaker and more fragile. His voice was practically in pieces when he breathed out: “I’m not hungry enough…yet…”

But he _was. _JT _knew _he was. He could _see_ how starving he was. “Listen…you don’t have to do anything for it.” Malcolm stared at him like he was speaking another language. Like he was saying gibberish, and he didn’t understand a single syllable. JT walked a little closer. This time, he noticed Malcolm didn’t react at all. He just kept searching his face. “This food’s already for you…you don’t have to do anything.”

Malcolm blinked a couple times. He started to turn his head towards the door. Like he was going to look back at Gil. JT was fast to stop him. _“Bright— _Bright, look at me. Eyes here.” Malcolm obeyed. The confusion on his face was palpable. JT reached out slowly. Malcolm’s breath hitched but that was it. And when JT grabbed the plate of fruit and dragged it closer, he didn’t yank back, either. “Look…the food’s already here. You don’t need to do anything for it. He’s not here.”

Malcolm’s face fell. The fear was melting off his face. He stared at the plate more longingly, now.

Jessica looked between them, stunned and puzzled. Everyone else looked just as lost. But they were watching silently and waiting.

Malcolm made no move for the food. He just stared. Desperate. Sorrowful. Doubtful.

“You can eat, Bright…” JT reassured. “You don’t have to do anything. He won’t make you do anything you don’t want to…he’s not _here.” _

Jessica’s eyes were purely for her son, now. His eyes were growing with desperation…growing with _indecision. _She could see it: all his thoughts going this way and that. All the inner turmoil he was facing, breaking onto the surface. She saw how much he was weakening. And the second she did, even when it was just this tiny, worn debate, she was filled with so much hope. Indecision meant he was tempted. It meant he _wanted _to eat. He wanted to eat this entire time, but now, it was being brought to the surface. She stared at him pleadingly, her eyes glassing over with tears. She couldn’t breathe.

Malcolm opened and closed his mouth. His eyes stayed on the food, but they were quickly beginning to water. He couldn’t bring himself to reach for it. He was too scared. The fear was obvious on his face, for anyone to see. Tears started running down Malcolm’s face. He was losing his nerve. He wasn’t going to do it.

But again, without even thinking of what he was doing or why, JT was moving. He reached out himself, for the plate. He didn’t nudge it closer, like Jessica had been trying to do. He wasn’t forcing him. Instead, all JT did was pick up a slice of cantaloupe and eat it. Everyone did a double-take. Jessica started to say something again. But she stopped when Malcolm’s eyes tracked the food, looking up at JT and watching him chew. He looked confused, but mostly alarmed. He looked at JT like he was waiting for something horrible to happen to him.

“It’s good,” JT said, keeping his voice aloof. “Have some.”

Malcolm wilted. His eyes slid to the side. He glanced at Gil, still standing in the doorway. He shrank back a little. But as JT reached down and plucked up yet another slice of fruit, Malcolm was looking back at him. His blue eyes flashed. JT took a seat on the edge of the bed, dragging the platter over so that it was sitting between them. Bright looked from it, to him, putting the puzzle pieces together. His fear was beginning to melt. Slowly. Very slowly.

JT ate another piece. He raised his eyebrows at him a little. Malcolm hesitated, anxious and apprehensive. His right hand twitched— Jessica was immediately looking down at it, her eyes huge from the tiny shift. JT saw it too; he just nodded his head invitingly. It was nearly twenty seconds – JT took another bite of the fruit – before Malcolm could do anything.

But eventually…ever so slowly…Malcolm’s right hand reached up.

At a glacier-like pace, he made for the fruit. His hand was shaking almost too hard for him to get a grip on the strawberry. But he did. Nobody in the room was breathing— they were just watching with huge eyes. He held it for almost another twenty seconds. His lips were shaking. He looked one more time at JT, who offered him a smile. He looked back down at the food. It looked like his mouth was opening against his will. Like his muscles were frozen and it was taking everything in him to move.

But he brought it up and put it in his mouth.

Once he did, he chewed fast and practically choked it back, like he was scared he didn’t have the time to eat normally. His eyes were shut— his head was ducked, like he was preparing for a hit. But it didn’t come. The very second he actually ate it, a strangled, almost-cry choked its way out of Jessica’s mouth. She was quickly covering it with her hand. Everyone else was just as shocked— just as floored and confused but _happy _to see it. JT smiled, too. But when Malcolm opened his eyes and looked up at him, still half-grimacing, he wiped his expression clean. All he did was pick up another bit of fruit and eat it.

Malcolm stared at him for a long heartbeat. Still debating. Still a little scared.

But when nothing happened, he reached out again. Picked up another piece and ate it just as fast.

Jessica was stunned. Her eyes welled with tears as she looked from her son to JT. All her gratitude was bursting to be let out. Tears streamed down her cheeks. JT glanced at her and she struggled to put all of it into a silent look, her lips trembling as her face broke out into a smile. JT softened a little when he saw how relieved she was. It was like a weight was lifted off her chest and she could finally breathe again. He knew if he looked back at the others, they would be the same way. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say when they asked him how he knew to do that. But he would think about that later.

Right now, he just ate another slice of fruit.

With every piece he ate, Malcolm reached out for one, too. Still shaking, but at least moving.

When they ate the entire plate of fruit, JT moved to the rice. Malcolm ate _that_, too.

For the first time – for the first time in a _long _time – he felt like he was actually helping him.

For the first time…he was actually grateful he’d had to watch those recordings.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Gil felt sick as he walked up the steps of the Whitly house, having to shrug aside reporters that were immediately firing questions at him. It was difficult to hear, considering everyone was yelling over one another. But he caught some of their questions, and those few were enough to turn his stomach as it was.

“Were you the detective they removed from the case!? Is it true you were too close to Malcolm Bright to remain professional!? Can you tell us more about that!?”

“Weren’t you the one who _found_ Malcolm Bright!? Could you elaborate about the state he was in!?”

“Could you tell us how Malcolm Bright is getting along!? What are the severity of his injuries!?”

“Why did it take you over a year to find the killer who has killed before!?”

By the time he made it to the door and was allowed inside, he was sick to his stomach. Louisa offered him a sympathetic look when she saw the expression he wore— he made a mental note to try and do better on hiding it. “Hello Mister Arroyo,” she greeted. He’d given up trying to tell her she could call him Gil; she was too used to formalities by this point. So he just nodded, still preoccupied with trying to get his breathing back under control. Suddenly after shoving his way through the throng and hearing what all they had to say, he was worked up.

The second he got himself back in check and shoved the media out of his mind, he looked at her searchingly. “How’s he doing?” he breathed. He’d visited with Dani last night. Malcolm hadn’t reacted to them. He’d been awake, but his stare had been vacant and empty as he’d just looked towards one of the room’s corners. He didn’t rouse when they tried to speak to him, and they hadn’t been brave enough to try and touch him. They’d sat with him and they’d talked, mostly back and forth but sometimes they talked to him, too, never getting anything in return. They’d left disappointed and hollow. That had been late last night; it was now only midmorning, around nine. Not _much _progress could be made in that time, he figured. Yet he was still stupidly hopeful.

Sure enough, he was disappointed when she replied. “He’s been very agitated,” she admitted, regretfully but honestly. He followed her as she led him inside. “He woke up this morning around five uncharacteristically so.” _Five? _That _was _surprising. Since he’d gotten home, he’d had bursts of anger, but never so early, right when he woke up. They were always later on in the day, when his fear had time to ebb away and his sense started leaking back to him. But right away, in the morning? “He was shouting and yelling. Eventually, Mrs. Whitly decided it was best to leave him alone. We’ve been checking on him frequently, but he’s fallen back asleep.” There was sorrow on her face and in her voice as she said this. Gil forgot that she had ties to Malcolm, too.

“So…he’s asleep now?” he asked warily.

“He is.” Louisa led him further into the house. “The nurses _did _remove the feeding tube yesterday, though,” she added, lighter. Gil tried to find comfort in the tiny detail. But it wasn’t much.

“Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Or…?” She looked a little awkward. Gil realized as soon as they walked into the living room why it was she’d looked so off. Jessica was standing in front of the fireplace, staring into it bleakly even though there was no fire to watch. She was already halfway through a glass of gin. She was so fixated, she didn’t even rouse when they came in. Louisa glanced at him, wearing a tiny frown. He managed a tiny shake of the head. She nodded, ducking her own before she turned and walked out the room just as silently as she’d walked in.

Gil opened his mouth, reaching for something to say. Begging to find something. He never could. Eventually, she must have sensed the added tension in the air. She turned and looked at him, and the second she did, his heart was dropping. At first, her gaze was blank when their eyes met. She looked like she hadn’t slept for three days. But gradually the hardness came back into her eyes. They narrowed. He saw anger like poison there, plain as anything to see. He start to feel sick. Both by her look, and by the fact he knew she was right to have it.

She glared at him, and when she did, he could see what she was thinking. That she was replaying whatever awful episode he’d just missed, early this morning. That she was thinking of her son yelling and spitting. She was thinking of the fact that her son hadn’t slept a full night since he’d woken up, and that even though JT had gotten her son to eat, she was still having next to no luck with it, herself. She was thinking about how Malcolm was still bedridden, and about how that couldn’t change because he couldn’t understand that he had to work with physical therapy to start walking again— to _relearn _how to walk, because he’d lost so much muscle mass, it was going to be an unbelievable task for him to just get his legs underneath him.

She was thinking of what her son had been reduced to.

What her son had been reduced to because of _him._

Her voice was flat. “Where’s everyone else?”

“I…I came by myself,” he offered. “The others…they might come later, but…” He weakened a little. “Is that okay?” he found himself asking, actually dreading what the answer might be.

Sure enough, her eyes flashed with reproach. “I suppose.” She looked down at her glass, twirling it and watching the liquid slosh around. Her lips were pressed together tightly. Gil hesitated before he walked into the room a little more. She glanced at him when he did, but she said nothing. Though he noticed her expression tightened. He stopped a couple of feet away from her; they stood in silence. He was too scared to break it. She was too _angry _to.

After a while, though, he tried. “I…heard about this morning…”

“Oh, did you?” she snapped, her voice quiet, but barbed. She didn’t look at him; he could feel her glare anyway. “Did Louisa tell you?” He started to open his mouth, but she was sweeping on before he could. “Did she _also _tell you that when I tried to reason with him and _explain he was in his own house, _he just screamed even more? That when I so much as tried to _touch him,_ he was _smacking_ me across the face? Screaming about how he just wanted to be left alone and wanted to go home…even though I’d _already told him _he was? Six times?” She shot him a freezing glare. His mouth ran dry. “Did she tell you _that_, too?” she repeated, quieter, but even more enraged. 

“She…” Gil’s voice was just a rasp. “She just…told me he was agitated…”

She scoffed, furious. “Agitated…” She rolled her eyes. “My _son…_is not himself anymore.” She could hardly be heard, and yet her words were freezing his heart over. Her eyes were tearing up but it was impossible to tell what she was more of: enraged, or mournful. “My son does not know where he is. He does not understand what has happened to him. He does not know he is _safe, _and he does not know that he is _loved.” _Each word was separate and curt with fury. “He is safe, and yet he doesn’t know that because the man that did this to him hurt him so irrevocably. Because he was on a _case, _with _you, _and _you _couldn’t find him when he was taken away from me!”

Gil’s eyes were stinging; his vision was blurring. He couldn’t speak.

Jessica wiped her eyes. She hadn’t put on makeup again. He couldn’t remember the last time she had. “So _no…_he’s _not _agitated. My son is _much _more…than just _agitated, _so I would appreciate you _not _calling him that.” Gil ducked his head, studying the floor. Suddenly it was hard for him just to draw in a breath. It felt like something was sitting on his lungs. She stared him down, practically daring him to even try to speak up.

Eventually he did, though. He lifted his head and forced himself to meet her gaze. His voice was guilt-ridden, and exhausted. “Jessica…how else do you want me to say it?” he sighed. Her eyes flashed, but her scowl remained. “I’ve told you how sorry I am…I’ve told you how much I already hate myself…I would do _anything…_to go back in time and change what happened— to _help _him…but I can’t.” His voice was quickly losing its steadiness— the ground he was doing everything he could to keep ahold of. “I _can’t_ do that, Jessica. No matter how much I _want to…_

“I stay up at night and stare up at the ceiling, and I think about how he looked when I first found him. Under that tarp. How he _sounded…_it just runs over and over again in my head. I never sleep, anymore. Not that I deserve to. I just lay awake…and I think about it. And I go over everything…I think about everything I did…everything I _could _have done. I yell at myself for not doing _this…_not doing _that. _I break myself down over every little thing. And when I’m broken down all the way, I wait a little bit, and then I do it all over again.” Her anger was fading. His voice was dull, yet it yawned with aching sorrow.

“I know I can never change it,” he exhaled. “I know I can’t take it back, I _know…_that I can _never _make it right. But is this really how it’s going to be? How it’s going to stay?” She locked her jaw back,. He weakened a little more. “I know I would deserve it,” he murmured. “I know that…if that was the case, I would understand…because _I _hate me, too. I just…” He grimaced. His voice came out even more brittle. “I just…need to know. If this is how it’s going to stay. After…_everything_…”

Her eyes flashed with pain. Her glower faltered. Instead, her eyes widened and rounded out a little. They stared at each other in silence, but about a million things existed, in that silence. How scared she had been, sitting in the interrogation room, her eyes welling with tears and her voice cracking on all her whispered-out fears. How he had reassured her that she was going to be okay…that her kids were waiting for her at home. Him checking in on her throughout the following weeks, making sure she was okay, going over to her house with Jackie with lunches and dinners already prepared.

Him taking the kids off her hands when she needed him to— when she needed a break to just breathe. Coming over that winter with Christmas presents just on the off-chance she hadn’t been up to go out shopping, and being correct. Meeting her tearful smile and string of apologies with more reassurances. Being there for her as best he could, because he knew he owed it to them— he owed it to the entire family. Doing his best to take care of her son as if he was his own…not only because he felt like he owed it, but because part of him _wished _Malcolm would have been his own.

“I just need to know if this is going to be how it always is,” he rasped, his voice as empty as he felt.

Her lips were shaking, pressed tightly together.

All they could do was stare at each other heavily. Neither too brave to speak.

All of a sudden, her phone rang. She jumped, surprised. She’d tossed her phone onto the couch a long time ago. She turned now to fetch it. Gil watched her go, finally able to breathe. She lifted the phone to her ear. “Yes; speaking.” She paused; her eyes flickered to Gil, who perked. There was a heavy look on her face already, but now it was weighing with exhaustion. “I…yes, absolutely. The…hospital should have…” She trailed off. His forehead was creasing. “Alright…is there a way we can discuss this over the phone?”

Gil stuffed his hands into his pockets.

She closed her eyes briefly. She took in a slow breath. “…No, no that’s fine…” she sighed after a moment. “No, I can…I can be there within the hour. With…with all the paperwork necessary. Thank you.” She hung up. She stared off into space for a couple of moments. Her eyes flickered to Gil and she took in another, faster breath. “I…have to go,” she murmured. “There was a…confusion with the medication. I have to take some…documents down to the pharmacy…otherwise they won’t be put through.”

“Oh.” The singular word was hollow. There was a long hesitation. Before: “Do you— would you…rather me leave…?”

“You…” She seemed to debate for a long moment, before she cleared her throat. She shook her head, as if trying to clear it. “No, you can…you can stay here.” He perked, surprise slapping across his face. She turned away from him quickly, as if she didn’t want to see. “You can— stay, I shouldn’t be very long.” She’d started to rush away, setting her drink down and going for her purse. She picked it up and slung it over her shoulder; the second she started to head off, though, she stopped and hesitated.

She bit down on the inside of her cheek. She took in a slow breath and turned back to him. There was something heavy about her eyes when she raised hers to lock with his. She cleared her throat. She couldn’t quite look at him. Her words were slow, and her voice was quiet. “If…he wakes up again just as…upset…I would rather he not be alone.” Gil’s heart twisted. “If…you could stay and…”

“Of course,” he said immediately, maybe too hastily. He reeled it back, sucking in a sharper breath and shaking his head. “Of…yes, of course. I’ll— …stay.”

“Thank you.” The two words were strange to hear, after everything that had been said. She started off, but she hesitated one more time. Just long enough to quickly throw back at him: “Call me if he wakes up, please.”

“Of course,” Gil repeated, quieter.

She held his gaze for a couple moments, before she nodded a little. She only paused for a couple more seconds until she finally tore herself away. She started down the hall, muttering under her breath: “I’ll be right back…I won’t be long.” He watched her leave, beelining for the door. She left him behind, feeling very awkward suddenly, when he found himself standing in the living room alone, an empty feeling yawning to life in his chest.

Wondering whether or not that last reassurance was even meant for him in the first place, or whether it was meant for her.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Too long…too long, it had been too long. Too long, too long, too long, too long too longtoolongtoolongtoo—

He was going to come back. Soon. Definitely. _Definitely_ soon. Then what?

_He’ll rip every last strand of your hair out of your skull, _the logical voice answered. Calm. Helpful. Thoughtful.

_Stop it. Stop._

_He’s been gone a long time, though, _it pressed. _He’s been gone a long time, that just means whenever he _does _come back, he’s going to hurt you _twice _as much as he usually does. He’s going to come back and force you to shove your hand into a pot of boiling water. Your right hand is moving better again— maybe he’ll break all your fingers again. Or…no, we already know that he’ll do. You’ve eaten a _lot…_he’s going to come back and he’ll be furious. He’ll make sure to make you pay. He won’t hold back this time— it’ll be worse than all the other times put together. He’ll— _

_Stop! No, no, stop! Stop it! He won’t!_

_Oh, but he _will. _You and I both know it. Just like you and I both know this isn’t real. And that the fact you can’t get yourself out of it just means you’re getting worse. A _lot_ worse._

_I’m fine. I’m fine I’m fine everything is fine everything is okay everything is fine fine everything is okay fine fine okay fine—_

_No, it’s not. And you _know_ it. Otherwise you’d open your eyes._

For a long moment, he couldn’t. But eventually he scrounged up the courage. He only opened them a little bit— barely even halfway. He was immediately cringing away, though, when he saw it again. The railing of the bed. The blanket covering him. He knew it was wrong. It was wrong, it was wrong…he didn’t _have _a bed, he didn’t _have _blankets, it wasn’t _right. _It was wrong, he was _wrong…_so why wasn’t he snapping out of it, yet?

_You’ve finally done it. You’ve gone completely insane, _the voice mused.

_Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe it’s better, like this._

_Being crazy? You won’t be able to fight. To protect yourself. To _think. _You’ve seen Mother and Ainsley before, but you were _always _able to get talk yourself out of it…or the fever would break and you’d snap out of it, or you finally swallowed your pride and did what you had to do to eat. You’ve even seen _Gil _before…and Dani, too. But there were always _reasons _behind those. You were too sick, or too hungry. There’s not a reason behind this. So how do you break it?_

_Maybe…maybe…it’s…_

_Maybe it’s _what!? Real!? _You think this could be _real!? _Give me a break! Don’t make me laugh! _

_It could be…_

_Could it? Could it _really? God,_ you’re so stupid…_

_…I know…_

_So try and use your _head. _And shake this _off. _You do no good, like this. This is all one big hallucination— you’re lying on the floor of this stupid place, still. Still stuck, still trapped. When he comes back, he’s going to hurt you. You need to be able to defend yourself…even if that means just trying to minimize damage. That’s where we’re at, right now. He’ll kill you…but only eventually. You’ve lasted who knows _how _long— don’t give up now. You gotta get back to your senses. Let this fantasy go._

_But…but I…I like this, better…this is better... _He was crying.

_But it’s not _real, _Sherlock. And it’s not going to help you last._

_I don’t want to last, anymore. I don’t want to last, I want to die._

_Well, yeah, we got that message after your little stunt with the glass, but guess what? I don’t give a shit. And neither do you— not _really. _It doesn’t matter how much you want to die— you’re _not. _There’s no hope for getting out, but there _is _hope for other people. You’re here. You’re his victim, still. Do you know what that means? _Nobody else is. _You’re a placeholder, that’s all you are now. The longer you last, the better off someone else is. As soon as you die, he’s gonna go out and find someone else. That blood will be on your hands, too. Do you want that? Do you want him to steal another eight-year-old?_

_…No._

_Then you _can’t die. _You have to live as long as you can, and you still have some time left in you._

_But how do I get out of this? How do I stop seeing them? When they seem so real…_

_You have to wake yourself up._

_But I don’t know how to _do _that…_

_You’ve tried talking yourself out of it. That didn’t work. So you have to do more._

_What does that mean?_

_You have to take extreme measures. Do whatever it takes._

He laid there, not knowing for sure what that meant. He sniffed a couple of times, before he forced his eyes open again. He looked at the bed and the blankets that were on him. Slowly, he shifted the covers off. His eyes went to his right hand. They flashed a little, when they landed on the sucker. His grip tightened. He felt the tiny wooden stick against his palm. His forehead creased.

Before: _You’re running out of time. He’ll be back soon._

It snapped him out of it. Malcolm tore his eyes away. He reached out with a trembling hand, to grab the siderail of the bed. He felt the groove of the plastic. He faltered again. Just for a moment. Before his foggy mind abandoned the detail. Deeming it unimportant, for the time being.

He grabbed on harder.

He started to pull.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Gil was in the living room, still. He hadn’t known where else to go, and suddenly, though he’d been here countless times in countless other scenarios, he felt like he was a stranger in a brand new house. Like he had no idea where anything was, and he was too scared to wander off because he might get lost. He sat on the couch and looked through his phone, trying to distract himself. He didn’t want to go on the internet— that ran the risk of stumbling across all the articles and news that, in the moment at hand, were all about Malcolm or Winston. Reading them made him sick. So he tried to stay away from that.

Ainsley had downloaded a bunch of apps on his phone while they were in the hospital, just sitting at Malcolm’s bedside. She’d said they were great distractions— that you could lose hours at a time on them, mindlessly playing. He didn’t see what she was talking about. He was trying them all, and they were all annoying. Eventually, he gave up. He put his phone back in his pocket and sighed, his expression and heart heavy as he resigned himself to just sitting there. He took to staring off into space, waiting. Not exactly sure what he was waiting for, exactly…probably just for Jessica to get back. He glanced at the clock, certain that she’d been gone for ages and was sure to be walking back through the door any second now, but he was disappointed to realize that it had only been about ten minutes. And when he checked it _again, _it had only been _five _minutes since he’d last checked.

He sighed, his shoulders slouching. His eyes caught on something to the left and he perked, standing up and walking closer. It was a little picture frame. His eyes softened with both sorrow and affection when he saw the photo inside. It was photo of Malcolm and Ainsley, when they were little. He didn’t know how old they were, but he _did_ know it was taken before Martin’s arrest. He knew because Malcolm was smiling. From ear-to-ear, the little boy was radiating happiness. He was looking at the camera but he was stooped at the same time, bending towards the floor. A tiny Ainsley was holding onto his hands, wobbling mid-step. She was so young but she still had so much hair— fine, tiny, flyaway curls stuck everywhere.

They were so little. So happy. It reminded him of the picture he had at home.

The picture he’d been looking at when Malcolm had called him.

The second the memory was coming back to him, his heart was twisting on itself. His eyes were quick to burn and suddenly it became much harder for him to breathe. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. He quickly started to try and rip his mind off the subject— to bring it back to himself and calm down, before everything could get away from him. He closed his eyes in a cringe, beginning to turn and walk back to the couch. He was starting to wonder whether or not he should change his mind and take Louisa up on her offer. Maybe a little bit of _something_ would take the edge off of all of this…

The very second he started to talk himself into it, a sudden noise got him jumping clean out of his skin. It was a thud. A loud one. The second he heard it, his head jerked up and his eyes widened. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. At first he didn’t move. He stayed still, hesitating and listening for it to happen again. Maybe it was just Louisa dropping something— maybe it was nothing.

But he heard it again. And he knew something was wrong.

The next thud was louder, and almost as soon as he heard it, he heard the third. He had no idea what it was, but something in his stomach was plummeting. He started for Malcolm’s room, and when he heard another thud and had the horrifying (but expected) realization that the sound was only getting louder the closer he got, he broke out into a run. “Bright!?” The slamming sound was only getting louder, each one getting closer and closer together. Gil’s eyes went huge and his blood turned to ice when he heard him start to scream.

_“Bright!” _He shoved the doors open, ready to run in and fix whatever the hell was happening. But he stopped short, the second he did. He’d started to rush inside, but the sight that met him made him freeze. His eyes flew wide and his mouth hung open in complete shock. His stomach fell away from him.. It was only for a moment. But for that split second, he couldn’t do anything. He just stared, horror clenching tight around his heart and making it screech to a halt, just like he had.

Malcolm was gripping the siderail of his bed. Of course, Jessica had taken it upon herself to bring in a whole, functioning hospital bed for him. It was good for a lot of things, like helping him sit up, which he still couldn’t even do without help. But one of the main selling points, Gil remembered her preaching to Ainsley, were those siderails. _They’re there to protect him, _she’d said one night, Malcolm fast asleep beside her. _It’ll be less easy for him to fall, that way. And he’ll be able to reach the controls easier, too. _

She’d preferred this type of bed because it was safe. Because the siderails were safe.

And now, Malcolm was currently banging his head as hard and as fast as he could against them.

It was taking _effort. _Of course it was taking effort— Malcolm hadn’t even tried to so much as sit up on his own. He didn’t even have the muscles for it, anymore. But _now, _that didn’t seem to be the case. _Now, _he was yanking himself back to the railing, over and over again, lifting his head and somehow getting his upper body up _just enough _to be able to slam it back down. He was screaming in horrible agony, but he was also screaming in pain and anger, too. It was impossible to tell which one was the most prominent. He sounded crazy. Insane.

It was the blood that snapped him out of it. There was a _lot. _It was already beginning to run down Malcolm’s face from his forehead, yet he wasn’t letting up. He was sobbing and breathing heavily, but he started to shove himself up again. That’s when Gil snapped out of it, shaking his head hard before he broke into that run again. “Bright!” This was the wrong thing to do. The very _instant _Malcolm heard his voice he was crying harder, rushing even faster to bang his head down. Gil cursed under his breath, rushing to the bed. He ignored everything else— all his wariness about touching him. Now, the second he could reach out and grab him, he was.

He was clumsy, but Gil grabbed his shoulders and yanked him back, as soon as he was preparing himself to slam his head down yet again. He hadn’t been smart enough to start counting them— he had no idea how many times he’d done it. But all the blood spoke enough volumes, to him: he’d done it _far _too much. He already thought Malcolm was screaming, but when he felt himself being pulled away, Malcolm started to _screech. _He started panicking _ten times _as loud, flailing and grabbing desperately to the blood-smeared railing, trying to get himself to stay there. His fear gave him a surprising amount of strength, but it wasn’t enough.

Gil pried him off. The second his fingers were slipping, Malcolm’s howls heightened in their desperation. He might have been begging or pleading something— he was sobbing and gasping too hard to make sense. “Bright!” His right arm lashed out again, for the railing. Gil cringed, but grabbed it back and held him around the middle as he kept thrashing, trying not to hurt his left arm but having no other option. _“Bright! Kid, stop!” _Malcolm kept pulling, kept screaming. He was trying to yank his arm out again. He was staring at the railing with huge, despaired eyes. He was looking at it like it was the only thing that could help him in this entire world. Tears were pricking at Gil’s eyes and his own voice started to shake with panic when nothing reached him. _“Bright! Kid, just— stop fighting, you’re— Bright you’re hurt!”_

Malcolm refused to stop. His panic had consumed him. The fact that Gil was holding him around the middle was just making it worse. When he felt that tightening, that restraint, it was like everything else tuned out for him. He didn’t hear anything, he didn’t feel anything other than that. He fought and fought. Tears running down his face just as much as the blood was.

_“Bright! Kid, I— Kid, please— please stop, please listen to me— it’s Gil! Bright, it’s me!” _He tried to turn him around, but Malcolm was resisting _that, _too. Anything he could resist, he was. All he was, was screaming and crying. Incoherent begging to just let him go so he could continue to bash his head in. The knowledge destroyed Gil. What was he _doing!? _Was he trying to kill himself!? _“Bright!” _He was crying, by now, though he did his best to hide it. But it was difficult. Everything was difficult.

It all built up on him, in that moment. Everything he’d been repressing. He had been waiting longer than a _year _to get his kid back…and _this _was how he finally did. His anger towards Winston clenched a burning chokehold around his throat. His guilt tore into his chest, at the knowledge it was all his fault. His sorrow broke his heart. His worry and concern twisted his gut around his stomach and made him sick. With Malcolm’s incessant screaming in the background, Gil broke down for that moment, feeling hopeless and at a loss of what to do, crouching on Malcolm’s hospital bed and struggling to keep him from hurting himself even more. Wanting to do everything he could to make it easier, but not knowing what would actually help.

He cringed deeply, ducking his head down against Malcolm’s back.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to _do…_how to make it better…how to make everything better again…

For a couple of seconds, he stayed like that. Holding Malcolm and feeling his spine dig into his forehead as he continued to writhe and fight and screech. Tears running down his face as he thought of all the times he’d seen him happy— all the times they’d spent together. How much he _knew _Malcolm wanted that back, when he _did. _He _did _have that, but he couldn’t make him _see it. _What did he have to do to get his kid back!?

His expression crumbled even more. He let out a couple sobs under his breath. He choked back the lump in his throat. Without conscious thought, his mouth began to move. His voice was ruined and clogged, but it croaked its way out anyway. Mindlessly, very quietly, _very _slowly…he started to rasp.

_“I see…trees of green…red roses too…” _Malcolm wasn’t faltering in his efforts, just as desperate, just as frenzied. He managed to wriggle his right arm out somehow; Gil cringed when he just yanked it back against him, causing Malcolm to let out a screech of desolation. The man’s voice grew even thicker. He picked his head up a little, pressing it against the back of his neck, instead. Closer to his ears. He kept singing, the words coming back to him. They’d never left. _“I see them bloom…for me and you…” _Malcolm started to scream less, gasping hard. He’d given up trying to reach the railing; now, he was trying everything he could to shove Gil’s arm off of him. Gil kept holding it, despite him. _“And I think to myself…what a wonderful world…”_

Malcolm started to falter, purely out of confusion. He stopped thrashing as much, his breath coming in uneven pants and his head hanging low. Blood dripped down to the stain the blankets. Gil felt some of it get on him but he didn’t care. All he was thinking about was the little boy that his wife had swept up, to dance around the kitchen with. The little boy that had looked surprised but amused, surprisingly happy to follow along. All he could think about was that he was _here_. That Malcolm was _here_, and somewhere deep inside him was that same person. That all he wanted to do was make him see it was safe to come out, again. That he didn’t need to hide anymore, because he had people that loved him.

Just like he’d had people that loved him all those years ago, in Gil’s kitchen.

_“I see…skies of blue…” _Every other breath of Malcolm’s was beginning to catch. His shoulders were beginning to heave, with every shaky inhale and harsh exhale. His right arm shoved a couple more times at Gil again, but it was much weaker, and much more absent. His desperation was fading. He was still stiff and trembling, but he wasn’t thrashing anymore. Gil was hesitant, but he wound his arms around him a little bit tighter. Not enough to panic him…just enough to ensure he was snug. Just enough to reassure him he was safe. _“And…clouds of white…” _Malcolm didn’t resist. He was starting to unclench. _“The bright…blessed day…the dark, sacred night…and I think to myself…” _Gil kept his hold, but he shifted him a little, so he was more against his chest. He held his head. Malcolm still didn’t fight. _“What a wonderful world…”_

Malcolm’s breathing was choking, getting faster. Not in panic…in a different way. In a way that was taking what was left of Gil’s heart and smashing it under its foot. He heard him begin to cry instead— hollow, empty sobs that sounded different than any other sob he’s done before. _“The colors of the rainbow…so pretty in the sky…”_ Gil held him tighter to his chest. Slowly, without thinking about it either, he began to sway gently from side to side. _“Are also on the faces of people going by…” _

Malcolm reached up fast and at first, he was braced for him to try and hit him. But his fingers fisted into his shirt instead. He grabbed the fabric and clung like his life depended on it. Like he was too terrified of letting go. Gil got the message, between that and his sobs. He kept going, though his voice was getting more and more choked up. _“I see friends…shaking hands…saying…How do you do?" _Malcolm turned his head into his shirt too, his cries becoming muffled. Gil felt it immediately wet, with both tears and blood. His chest tightened even more. _“They’re really saying…” _He flinched, ducking his head so that he was ducking into Malcolm, almost the same exact way he was hiding into him. His voice broke when he struggled to choke out, “_‘I love you…’”_

He had to stop and find the ability to breathe, again. To somehow clear his throat so he could get the rest out. _“I hear…babies cry…” _He hugged him tighter. Malcolm didn’t yell or pull away. He held back to him just as tightly. _“I watch them grow…they’ll learn…much more…than I’ll ever know…” _Cradling him close with one arm, he used the other to rub Malcolm’s shoulder, slowly and soothingly. He was still crying but it was gradually tapering off. Gil had felt his heartbeat before— a hummingbird’s terrified. Now, it was slowing down. _He _was slowing down. _“And I think…to myself…what a wonderful world…”_

Malcolm let out a shaking breath, relaxing against him, though he kept his grip in his shirt.

_“Yes…I think to myself…” _Gil didn’t let him go. Malcolm didn’t _want _to be let go.

He just stayed crouched in his bed, holding him as though he was trying to gather all the pieces and hold them, so that maybe some bits would connect again. So that maybe little kid that had been in his kitchen that lifetime ago might hear_. _Hoping that this would register to him.

Hoping that somehow, some way…this would help bring his kid back. 

_“What a wonderful world…”_

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jessica ran inside as fast as she could. When she got over the threshold, she just threw her purse on the ground, not even pausing to see where it landed. She barely stopped long enough to close the door behind her. She wasn’t absolutely sure she had, but figured if she hadn’t then Louisa would be kind enough to do the deed for her. The second she was inside, she was tearing for his room. When Gil had called her she’d almost dropped her phone. She’d almost passed out right there in the pharmacy. The two pieces of news had punched her in the face, right after the other. Knocking the breath out of her.

One: Her son had tried to bash his head in and blood was currently gushing from his forehead.

Two: Her son was coherent.

He was coherent. And – the last she’d heard – he was _staying _that way this time.

She’d planned to run all the way to the room— she’d planned to run all the way to her son and bundle him up in the tightest hug she had ever trapped him in in his entire life. And yet, when she neared his room, her steps were faltering. Without conscious thought, she was slowing down. She was slowing, and she found her excitement was burning out, into apprehension, instead. She slowed to a walk and then to barely even that. She reached up and worried at the necklace she was wearing, gripping it tight. She heard someone speaking softly. Her stomach tightened. The doors were open. She stopped in the entryway, absolutely silent.

The morning nurse was already inside. It was always the same one during the day; her name was Allison. She’d been scheduled to come already, at ten, like she always did— after hearing about what had happened, Jessica had given Gil the phone number to have her come right away. And apparently, right away meant exactly what it sounded like. She was just finishing up the last of Malcolm’s stitches. There weren’t that many. Six or seven tiny ones, right up near his hairline.

She was murmuring softly to him as she worked. “Well…your pupillary response is good. You aren’t slurring any of your words. You could track my finger…you’re bound to have a pretty nasty concussion…I’ll stay with you for longer today…I’ll reassess you every fifteen minutes at first, it’s gonna be annoying but the _second _I think you might have a bigger complication than just that, we’re going to need to rush to the hospital, alright? I know you don’t want to…but it’s the best route to take. And I’m in charge, so what I say goes.” This last part was said jokingly. It fell flat.

Jessica was hardly listening to her, though. She was just staring, in absolute shock.

The head of the bed had been elevated. Malcolm was laying there, his expression pinched and raw with pain. But that was it. He was stiff, and he cringed every so often, but he wasn’t yanking away from Allison like he usually did. He wasn’t trying to shove her off, or curl away. He was just…_laying _there…waiting for her to finish. He looked uncomfortable, but he was compliant. His expression wasn’t crowded with panic or fear. There was lingering unease, but that was it, for right now. For right now…her son looked…the most like her _son _since they had found them.

He was still in pain, and she could tell he was frightened a little still, too.

But…he was also _him. _The closest yet.

The realization hit her and rooted her in place. Her jaw went a little slack.

It took a couple heartbeats after the nurse finished speaking, for his eyes to catch on her.

For him to notice her, there.

His eyes flashed when they flickered to her. The second they met, his own were widening. His face was falling, in some way. Not in disappointment, not in confusion. Somewhere in the gray area between. She actually had absolutely _no_ idea what the look on her son’s face was, when he looked at her…even if she was given a thousand years to try and place what it was, her answers wouldn’t ever get close. She had no idea what her _own _expression looked like, though. It was all she could do to hold his gaze, though as she did, her heart grew heavy and pained. Her eyes were quickly beginning to burn with tears.

Gil was standing in the corner of the room, his expression as heavy as Jessica’s felt. He watched the two of them in silence, doing and saying absolutely nothing. Slowly, Jessica forced her legs to move. She started to walk towards him. Realizing the significance of the moment, Allison stepped away to regather her supplies and double-check she had everything she would need. Neither Malcolm nor Jessica spoke, for a long while; even when she stopped at his bedside, they were silent. They just searched one another’s faces, both trying to figure out something horribly complicated and confusing.

Her throat grew hot and it was more difficult to swallow, as she looked at her son and the faint sense of rationality that was in his eyes, now— it was such a small change and yet at the same time it made him appear completely different. She had a million things she wanted to say— things that had kept her up night after countless night. She wanted to say she was sorry, she wanted to say that she loved him, she wanted to tell him how hard she had tried to get him back, she wanted to tell him that even _considering _arranging his funeral like she had had made her absolutely sick. She wanted to say all of that and so much more. And yet, when her mouth opened and her soft voice whispered itself out, it wasn’t any of that at all.

“Your head…” She looked at the new stitches cutting into his forehead. Her heart panged. She’d thought she was through seeing her son’s face marred with harsh black sutures. He’d had the rest of them taken out. To see it again now, even though there weren’t nearly as many, was twisting her stomach into knots. Without thinking, she sat on the edge of his bed. Malcolm stiffened a little bit; his stare was crawling over with more anxiety, now.

She wilted, reaching up to draw her fingers gently across his skin. Everything around the injury was bright red, as of now. The fact she would soon see even more bruises on her son just added to her distress. The second she touched him, Malcolm gave the tiniest flinch. He closed his eyes, ducking his head and hissing under his breath. She readied herself to yank back, in case this set him off. But he slowly forced his head back up. He forced his eyes to raise again, and go to hers. He wasn’t reeling away. “What were you _doing?” _she breathed, her voice already thick.

At first, he didn’t reply. Doubt and fear mingled in his expression to make one apprehensive one. Her heart stopped in her chest when, eventually, he actually replied. His voice was trembling. It was nothing more than a whisper, as if he was afraid of speaking at a volume any more than that. “I was…trying to…wake myself up…” he rasped, Jessica barely catching the words at all. But when she did, and when she heard how scared and small he still sounded, her heart broke. She let her hand slide down to rest against his cheek. His breath hitched when he looked at her hand. When he felt her gentle touch. Even quieter than before, his lips hardly moving, he whimpered again: “Was just…trying to…wake up…”

She had to choke back the lump in her throat to be able to speak clearly. “Darling…look at me,” she pleaded. He did, tearing his eyes away from her hand. “Sweetheart…you don’t need to wake up.” His breath caught again, a little sharper. She could _see _the struggle, on his face. The fact that he wanted desperately to believe that this was true, but that some part of himself was still refusing. She couldn’t blame him…she had no idea what it would be like, to be in his shoes. But still, she was begging and pleading him to listen and understand. For it to finally sink in. So he might finally get some _peace. _

“This is real…darling,” she murmured, keeping her hand on his cheek. She reached out with her other one, to hold his hand in hers. His eyes went down to that, too. His lips shook. “We_…_we couldn’t find you soon enough and we’re so…_so _sorry, sweetheart, we tried to do everything we could…” His eyes started to wander. The way he was looking around it was like he had just been tackled to the ground and stunned— he was getting back up, but he was winded and confused. Slow, and lethargic, but struggling on anyway. Slowly, he turned and looked over at Gil. He stiffened when he first caught sight of him, but then seemed to remember himself, and relaxed again, albeit marginally.

Gil wanted to meet his stare with a supportive one— something that would make him feel better. But he was far past that. His expression was strained and weighted down with pain. When Malcolm looked at him, all he wanted to do was duck his head and turn away. He didn’t, but everything about him screamed the fact that that was what he truly wanted. It only grew worse as Jessica went on, getting more and more tearful by the sentence. “There was just— so _little_ to work with, I hired as many private investigators as I could find, they were out looking for you every single day, we just— …we just…” Gil’s eyes were growing shinier in the light. Malcolm noticed. He looked back at his mother.

With the way Malcolm was staring at her, it was as if she’d shoved him in front of a chalkboard with an impossible math equation on it and had snapped at him to solve it, when the equation was just a jumble of letters and symbols to begin with. There was no real answer, and yet, because she had told him he had to, he was struggled to create one. Trying _everything _he could to just get _something _but coming up blank. He was hitting a wall…seeing this, Jessica felt a twinge of panic, too afraid to let that wall become even bigger, for fear they would lose this scrap of clarity. She had no idea whether or not it was something that could be lost again, but she didn’t want to find out.

She squeezed his hand a little tighter. This made him rouse— the confusion cleared from his face to be replaced with a tiny grimace of pain. She felt horrible, but after it passed, he looked back at her and she knew she had his attention again. “Malcolm…this is _real,” _she pressed, gently but firmly. “We found you…you’re _home. _We…we almost lost you…it was— it was a _very _trying time, just to get to _here…” _She remembered how her son had looked, intubated and kept alive purely by the functioning of a machine. She looked at him now, hurt and confused and scared, and struggled to find and cling to all the hope she still had. “You were…released from the hospital only a handful of days ago. We spent…a _long_ time there, but now you’re home. You’re _home.” _

He looked from his hand, which she was still holding tight to, to his mother. Trying to do and redo that math again, and make it line up. She could see his mind, written on his face— cloudy and jumbled and haywire. She had never seen him look so lost. “I…redid one of the studies. I thought…or…well, we figured a room down here was best, rather than your old one, upstairs. But…I’ve hired nurses and other personnel.” Malcolm looked back to the entryway, where Allison had gone. “They’re here every day and night, to make sure you’re okay…it’s…it’s going to be a long road, darling, but…now all that’s left is for you to get better, here. With your family. Now that we’ve found you.”

He sat and tried to digest this. But still, his confusion remained. “What…?” His voice was hoarse. He looked around the room that was both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Jessica had brought down some things from his old room. The blanket laying on top of him was the quilt she’d sewn him when he was younger. His pillowcase was his, and he saw that his bookshelf had been brought down, too. He stared at all the familiar things— things he’d mostly forgotten. His mother gave him the time and space to think.

He stared at the writing desk in the corner, before something actually identifiable swamped through his eyes. Something strong and unfortunately familiar. Fear. His face paled, and all of a sudden he whirled back to her. The change was sudden, and alarming. Jessica stiffened, with the unexpected intensity. “Where is— what happened to—?” He couldn’t finish a complete thought. All of a sudden he was gripping her hand back, with about twice the grip she was daring to hold him in. Again, with that brief flash of actual strength, purely because of his panic. “Where…where is he?” he eventually whimpered, practically having to force it. His voice was so weak it wrung her neck even more.

Jessica’s mouth hung halfway open as she just gawked right back at him. She wrenched her gaze away from her son to look at Gil instead. The man looked just as overwhelmed as she was. But thankfully, he had more experience with this type of thing. He pushed himself off the wall, to walk over to them, being careful to be slow. Still, when he spoke, Malcolm’s head whipped to him, as if he’d yelled right into his ear. “Winston has been arrested. He…hasn’t had his sentencing yet, but he _has…_pled guilty.” Malcolm stared at him blankly. His words stuck a little more when he clarified after a couple seconds: “You’re safe, Bright…he’s going to get what’s coming to him…we’re making sure of it.”

There was another long stretch of silence. Malcolm’s face stayed blank. When he spoke, his voice was subdued and slow. “Is…that…his name…?” Jessica and Gil looked confused. Malcolm weakened a little. His voice shook when he forced himself to press: “You…said…Winston— is that…his name…?”

Jessica’s eyes widened. She didn’t often stop long enough to think about the monster that had done this to her son. She hadn’t thought about him purely because the very instant she did, she was flooded with rage so strong it would nearly blind her. All she could see was red, when she thought of the man that had brought her son to this state. But now, to know that all that time, Malcolm hadn’t even known his _name?_ At surface level, it wasn’t all that important. But somehow, it made her see red again. Made her grit her teeth and lock her jaw back.

Thankfully, Gil was much better at hiding his anger. Maybe that was because Malcolm was still fixing him with his overwhelmed, confused eyes. His voice was sober when he murmured back: “Yes. His name is Winston Price.”

This information was added, to all the rest. It was piling one on top of the other. But it was getting to be too much, Jessica could tell. The stack was too tall— he was starting to stagger under its weight. It was beginning to wobble; he was going to drop it all. When they went silent, they could hear how his breathing was getting louder, in subtle fractions. Just the tiniest bit heavier. He looked at the blanket, at his mother’s hand still holding his own, at the cast on his arm, and it only layered on him even more. His eyes were beginning to shine over with tears.

Jessica rushed to try and fix it. She remembered the way Gabrielle had looked at her, and had shaken her head. No. It was too early, for this. It was too soon. They had to take it one step at a time. If they gave him too much, he would shut down— he’d spent an entire year trapped in fear and isolation. They had to ease him back into things. And what was most important right now, was that they get him to understand where he was and what was happening now, for _him. _“Darling…darling, look at me,” she pleaded again. He did, lifting his eyes to hers and breaking even more when they met. She just smiled, biting back her own tears. She ran her thumb along his cheek. “Darling, what matters right _now_ is that you’re _safe. _That’s all. You’re _safe, _and you’re _here, _and we are going to get you through this…okay?”

His inhales were weak and hiccupping. “I— don’t…” It looked like he tried to smile— tried to laugh, even. But the result was too pathetic to qualify. It was more of a shaking grimace, and a heavy, fast sigh out. A tear fell down his face. She brushed it away tenderly as he whispered: “I don’t want this to be a dream…” Her heart lodged hard in her throat. Holding her own tears at bay was quickly becoming more and more of an impossible task. Her son’s expression broke desperately. His lips shook, as he cringed deeply. “I…_can’t_…have this be…_another _dream…”

She had to breathe deeply a couple of times, to make sure she was okay enough to respond. “It _isn’t_, darling,” she murmured soothingly. She looked back up at his forehead, pain flashing through her eyes. She reached up again to put her fingers lightly against the injury. Sure enough, Malcolm was immediately flinching away from the pain the tiniest pressure inflicted. Even with the numbing agent spread over the actual laceration, it was still hurting him enough to be present. He flinched, but when he opened his eyes again, beneath the pain, she saw how torn and indecisive he was. That he was _registering_ the pain, and what had caused it. Facing the fact that surely she _had _to be tangible, for it to hurt.

“It’s not a dream, sweetheart,” she murmured. “You’re safe at home. And you’re going to get _better_. And for right now…that is _all_ we need to worry about…” She smiled for him. Finding that it was genuine, for once. And so was the warmth in her voice when she pressed: “Does that sound okay?”

He searched her face, as though he was probing for a lie. His lips were shaking again. The doubt on his face was growing. So was the fear, if only over the prospect that his doubt would turn out to be true. “I’m…” His expression started to crumble. “I’m _home?” _The voice broke, with all the disbelief and sorrow and longing and happiness, all rolled into one. Once his voice broke, there was no coming back from it. He started to cry, his shoulders shaking with every hitching gasp in and out. He was gripping hard to her hand. A silent plea not to let go. Her tears finally started streaming down her face when he repeated himself, just as disbelieving, just as shocked, and frightened over the prospect of it not being the case.

But all the same, there was the tiniest happiness, to witness. Hiding in the curve of his trembling lips, and the tiniest lift in his choked sobs. It wasn’t much, but it was something. It was _something, _after _weeks _of nothing. “I’m— ’m I home?” he repeated again. “I’m…back— it’s not…a dream? I’m— home?”

Gil was beaming, tears running down his face as he looked at him with all the relief in the world.

Jessica found herself smiling from ear-to-ear as well, sniffing and wiping her son’s tears away for him. “You _are._ You’re home— you’re _safe. _You’re _finally _safe…” Malcolm stared at her for a couple more seconds, before it became too much and he hung his head, just starting to cry. In confusion and fear but also relief. Bone-shaking, astounded relief. Jessica closed her eyes against it, and found herself leaning out. She wrapped her arms around him carefully, making sure she wasn’t hurting him when she drew him in for a hug. She wasn’t even sure whether or not he would want it. It was just her first instinct.

Sure enough, the second she was hugging him, his sobs were breaking louder. He reached up to throw his right arm around her. He was shaking from head to toe in her arms; his crying became muffled into her shoulder. He clung back to her with all the force he could bring himself to muster, which wasn’t much. She sniffed, smiling tearfully as she ducked her head closer to him and whispered: “This is _real. _You’re _safe. _You’re safe here, with us…” Malcolm cried harder, all those other emotions still choking at him. He still wasn’t inclined to believe her. He was still too scared. But she was willing to take this. At least he had _some_ of his rationality back.

“You’re alright…” she shushed him, rubbing his back. Feeling him begin to calm down and reap as much comfort as possible. She held him with all her love and fierce protection. Making sure there was no question at all in her voice when she vowed: “We’re here for you now…we’re going to protect you, and keep you _safe…_everything is going to be okay, darling…I promise…”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It didn’t feel like a hallucination. But it didn’t feel _real, _either. It felt like…something in between.

Laying there in the bed – in an _actual _bed, with an actual _blanket_ and actual _pillows_ – and looking around, it felt like he was very far away from himself and from everything happening. He looked at everything like he hadn’t seen it before in his life. He looked at the clean, hardwood floor…the window off to the side that was letting the setting stun’s orange glow into the room. He looked at the bedside table and saw a picture sitting there of him and Ainsley. He was actually smiling in it. His hands were in his pockets and he was grinning— Ainsley’s hand was on his shoulder. She’d been caught mid-laugh.

He didn’t remember when the photo was taken. He’d been trying to reach back and figure it out, but…he couldn’t get it.

He couldn’t get a _lot, _right now.

Everything was jumbled…blurred together. Whenever he managed to grab something, it was too hazy to make out, and it was always fast to drain through his fingers. As fast as sand, it fell away from him before he could try to make sense of it. He could remember a _lot _of emotions. Fear…pain, hurt, guilt, sadness, horrible, aching sadness, and a horrible, panicked _fear _as well. But that was mostly because those were still _there_. They didn’t have a _reason_ to be there. He didn’t _think. _But they were there anyway, like lingering ghosts. Making his heart race and his hands shake for a reason unidentified.

He had bits and pieces, but none of them really made sense. It seemed disjointed and strange…like a movie being played out of order. Or, maybe it _was_ something coherent, but there was just too much fog to see it through. His head was just a jumbled mess of fright and pain. Right now, that’s all it was. He tried to think back to the last clear thing…but he wasn’t even sure there _was _one. Everything was equally as unclear.

He tried to remember them finding him. He struggled to try and remember anything at all— even just the _general sense _of safety. But no. He couldn’t. He remembered…yelling. He remembered a _lot _of yelling. And crying. Pain…he remembered pain…he was still in pain _now. _The _tiniest_ movement made him flinch, made him gasp in sharply. He felt like he was laying on needles…if he laid perfectly still, there was only minimal pain…pain he could breathe through. When he moved, even if it was a little shift, the needles were stabbing into him, harsh and fast and without warning. But if he laid perfectly still…if he stayed exactly like this…it was okay…it was easier…

He didn’t remember being found. He didn’t remember being in the hospital.

What…what _did _he remember?

Everything that happened…it was blank, and yet…at the same time, it was…

It was just gray eyes, dull and lifeless unless they were lit up with sick, twisted satisfaction.

Laughter that bounced off the walls, stabbing into his eardrums and his heart.

The snap of bones breaking, screeching of pain that…_must _have been coming from _him._

Hunger. Horrible, aching, caving-in hunger. Thirst so severe he would scream if only his tongue could be ripped away from the roof of his mouth.

Darkness so deep and menacing he couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face…all he could see…was a tiny red dot, off to the side…from…_something_…he didn’t…really remember what it was…not right now…

He remembered crying…even when he thought there was no water left in his body to give.

He remembered shouting. Mocking, sneering…

Nothing tangible. Not _really, _anyway.

Or…maybe he did. Maybe it was _there_, but he just wasn’t letting himself get to it. Just slightly out of reach. Tempting, and terrifying at the same time.

He’d been staring off to the side, his eyes empty and devoid of any life. He’d been staring like that for ages. Stuck…held back. He was brought back to himself with a harsh sting of pain. It slapped him across the face, and he cringed, a tiny cry dying in the back of his throat. He looked down – his head was ringing with pain just from _that _– and tried to find the source of the sudden agony. He couldn’t see anything. But again, he shifted just the tiniest bit, and he was cringing, his breath being swiped right out of his lungs with the pain’s severity. Just _breathing _hurt…

A broken rib? Multiple? When had that happened?

A flash of darkness. Of a kick into his side. Of a boot stomping down hard on his sternum.

But again…that was it.

He stared down at himself, confused and scared…not just from the memory, but at everything that was _missing _from it. His forehead started to crease, just making the pain in his head worse. His hands started to shake and his vision began to blur. His breathing was getting louder in fractional amounts. He felt the telltale warning signs of a panic attack. His heart was picking up, his fingers were beginning to tingle and grow numb. He was trying to fight it but it was grabbing his ankles and dragging him back. He likely would have fallen right into the trap of it, had a sudden noise snapped him out of it.

His head snapped up, his eyes going huge. The noise was small, but it didn’t matter— that was all it took. The second Malcolm heard a noise that _wasn’t_ from him, he was tensing, his hands curling into tight fists, his heart freezing and continuing to pound at the same time, somehow. Horror flooded through him, as he jerked his head towards it. _He’s here, he’s here he’s here hide curl up do something do something right now hide please oh God hide he’s here he’s coming back he’s going to— _

Gil was standing in the entrance of the study. At the quick glimpse – at the height, at the hair – the already-panicked thoughts started to kick into an even higher gear. _He’s here he’s here it’s not safe anymore it’s never safe I just want to be safe get up do something hide try and stop him please try and stop him try and— _It took him a full four seconds to focus enough through his fear to notice the eyes. To see they were brown, not gray. From there, he could see the rest. The different way his hair was parted, the sorrow on his face, the neutral way he was standing, the fact he was _just _standing, and not moving towards him, not running at him, not swinging or kicking or hitting…

The horror passed, but Gil had seen it. And it had killed him.

“…Gil.” His voice didn’t sound like his. It sounded wrong. Just like everything _else _felt wrong, too.

Despite everything, hearing his name come out of Malcolm’s mouth had his face splitting into a beam, however sadly. The last time he had heard him say his name had been on the phone— he’d been screaming and sobbing it at the top of his lungs…enduring torture he knew he couldn’t even begin to fathom. Now, he was saying it again. Not sounding _exactly _like himself, but close enough. Affection was burning hot in his chest, right alongside his guilt. He grinned, and Malcolm’s eyes flashed when he saw.

He started inside, taking care to be slow. He noticed Malcolm was fast to look him up and down when he did. His right hand clenched, but he didn’t react much past that. Gil decided it was okay to keep going. “Hey, kid,” he murmured. His voice cracked just a little. He had to stop and clear his throat. Malcolm’s eyes flashed again. He searched his face, still trying to find something wrong. A detail that might give away the fact that this was all some set-up…some trick, or dream. He said nothing.

Gil pulled the chair away from the desk, moving instead so he could pull it to his bedside. He sat down, and for a while it was silent. Malcolm stared at him before he seemed to lose his nerve. He looked down, and when he did, something caught his eye. He frowned, looking at his hand, and the sucker that was there. He’d forgotten about it…had stopped feeling it resting there. He didn’t speak, but Gil must have sensed his confusion. He had to clear his throat again, before he felt safe enough to talk. “That was…from Gabrielle, she visited you in the hospital.”

He didn’t take his eyes away. He stayed silent. Gil began to think he wouldn’t reply at all. But then he whispered a numb, empty: “…She did?”

He tried to look at him— tried to figure out what Malcolm was feeling. But it was impossible. He couldn’t imagine what a shock this was, to him. Some part of him still seemed detached. Far away. “Yeah,” he said, wishing he would look at him again. “She brought you it. You’ve been…you’ve been holding onto it ever since. A couple times, we tried to take it from you…it didn’t go well.” He tried to laugh, and make this more teasing. It wasn’t enough.

Malcolm still stared. His gaze was distant, now, though. Like he wasn’t actually seeing anything. “What does that mean…?” he whispered.

Gil frowned. He felt like if he reached out and waved his hand in front of his face, Malcolm wouldn’t even blink. “Uh…well, you would always just…get upset…” He tried to explain it as best he could. “A lot of things would…make you upset. That was one of them. We…tried to do everything we could to make you…feel okay, it…” He was horrible at this. Yet Malcolm wasn’t even reacting. Despite Gil’s stuttering and stumbling and awkward pauses, he still just looked blankly at the sucker. Or…more _through _it, at this point. “You’ve just been holding onto it for a while,” he ended lamely.

Silence. Malcolm still stared.

Gil wilted. Studied him, and started to count the seconds.

He reached forty-five, by the time Malcolm blinked. Seventy-seven, by the time he spoke.

“I don’t remember that…” he breathed, his lips hardly moving. Gil’s heart clenched. “Why would I do that…” It was almost too flat to be considered a question. Too monotone. Too empty.

Gil studied him for a couple more moments, mostly trying to sum up his courage. Whatever courage he still _had, _at this point. “Bright…” Malcolm still stared down at his sucker. He forced himself to raise his voice just a little. “Bright.” He turned. He dragged his head to twist it on the pillow. Gil struggled to find some comfort in his eyes— some bit of _him. _It was _there_…he could tell. But so was the wariness. The pain. There was still fear, hollowing out the very back of his gaze. His eyes weren’t crazed with panic…but was that permeant, now? Was fear _always _going to be staring right back at him, no matter what?

Gil had seen plenty of victims that had never recovered, who hadn’t even been put through a _fraction_ of what Malcolm had. Victims that never recovered— not all the way. They were scarred. Traumatized. _Different_, because of what they’d gone through. He’d used to think to himself, looking at some of them, that maybe they would have been better off dying. Not hatefully, or intending ill will…but now he realized how harsh and callous that was. How coldhearted. The very _thought _of finding Malcolm _dead, _instead…he couldn’t stomach it. Despite everything…he would rather have this. He knew.

By the time he came back to himself, Malcolm seemed even warier. Gil took in a sharper breath and shook his head. When he reoriented himself and looked at him, his expression was more pained. “Bright…I’m…I’m _so…so sorry…” _At the drop of a hat, his voice was getting thick and choking. The second he heard his voice start to fold in on itself, his eyes were burning and his chest was squeezing. Malcolm’s shoulders hunched a little, and Gil knew he should take a moment to calm himself down— to be the stronger one, out of the two of them. But he _couldn’t_. Not when this was finally bursting out of him.

“I’m so sorry…I’m so sorry, kid…” he croaked. He cringed and ducked his head, holding it in his hands. His shoulders were beginning to shake— his breathing grew heavy, with barely-held-back sobs. “I tried…I tried everything…I tried _everything, _but it wasn’t enough…I wasn’t enough for you…I couldn’t _find you!”_ Tears were fast to roll down his cheeks. “I couldn’t find you, I couldn’t _help _you…!” He tried to dig his heels in and stop himself, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t get himself to stop gasping. To stop crying. To get his heart to stop breaking and making it even worse. “I— I tried to— I wanted— I wanted to…”

He couldn’t finish. He wanted to say so many things— he wanted to _beg _for Malcolm’s forgiveness. But now that he finally had the chance, he couldn’t manage it. Not the way he actually _wanted _to apologize. His resolve crumbled and he crumbled right along with it. He clamped his mouth shut, resorting to trying to hold back his sobs. Trying to reel himself back in when he knew it was a lot more difficult than it seemed. He only lost control of himself and sobbed quietly for a couple moments, though it felt more like five years. After the lapse, breathing shakily in its wake, he forced himself to lift his head again. He wiped hard at his eyes, feeling embarrassed and ashamed as he sniffed loudly.

Malcolm’s eyes were wider than normal, tearing up as he stared despairingly at him. There’d already been a huge amount of sorrow and uncertainty on his face, but now, it was even worse. He had no idea what to say, or do. Everything was moving too fast, for him to wrap his head around. Gil could tell— he could see how overwhelmed he was starting to become. He opened his mouth, trying to figure out a way to stutter out _another _apology, for making this all worse. For making this about him, when that wasn’t his intention at all. It wasn’t what he was _trying _to do.

He opened his mouth but he couldn’t get anything out.

Malcolm wilted. His lips shook, and he looked away. There was a heavy moment of silence. Gil wiped his eyes rougher this time. Cursing himself for not being able to do this the way he wanted— the way he knew Malcolm deserved. He looked back up, starting to fumble for _anything _to say. But when he did, he stopped short, doing a tiny double-take. His eyes crowded with confusion. Malcolm was still silent, but he’d moved his right arm out to him. The sucker was still in his hand…he was holding it out to him. Offering it.

Gil’s face fell. His eyes widened when he looked at Malcolm— in surprise, and uncertainty. He had been holding onto it for _ages. _Now, all of a sudden, he was just…_giving _it to him. It was small, and it was stupid, but at the same time, it wasn’t. Gil couldn’t think of what to say, and Malcolm wasn’t offering anything either. Both of them could only look at the other in silence, both their faces clouded with unimaginable emotion. They weren’t good at this. _Neither _of them were ever good at things like this…_talking, _like this. And Jessica was right…it was much too soon. Even _if _it was all he wanted to say.

Gil ended up smiling sorrowfully. He reached out and took it, whispering: “Thanks, kid…”

Malcolm hesitated. But then he smiled back. Just a little.

But even this tiniest bit…this _tiny _grin…it made Gil happy enough to want to cry all over again. He almost started to.

But then something cut through the moment. Made them both turn.

“Mal!” He was still looking at Gil, so the older man saw the way his eyes widened and flashed, at her voice. For a couple seconds, he was frozen— it was like he was a deer in headlights, unable to move a single muscle. When he finally did, and saw her, his eyes somehow got even bigger. Ainsley was wearing the biggest smile Gil had ever seen her wear. When Malcolm looked at her, she grew even _happier. _She looked so excited, she could barely stand still. She hopped up and down— the tiniest squeal squeaked itself out before she rushed over. He stayed absolutely stunned. He stared at her like he’d never seen her before.

His shock was obvious, but she didn’t seem to care. Jessica had followed her inside; now, she lingered at the door, her eyes soft and loving as she watched her two children. Ainsley booked it to his bedside and plopped down by him. The tiny bounce shook the mattress and Malcolm in turn, making him hiss in a sharp breath and flinch. Her eyes flew wide. “Oh no! I’m sorry!” she gasped. Malcolm grimaced and breathed through the pain, but he was fast to force open an eye again so he could see her. Just in time, before she flew out to hug him.

Her squeeze was gentle and fast. Malcolm barely had time to register it before she was letting go, pulling away so she could look at him again. “I’m so sorry!” she gasped again, still grinning. He was still a deer in headlights. “I was at _work— why _do you _always _choose to do stuff when I’m at work!?” He opened his mouth, but she was already moving on. She looked at his forehead and the stitches that were there. She wasn’t sure whether to get mad, be concerned, or laugh. So she ended up doing a little bit of all three. “What in the _world, _Mal! Did you think you weren’t injured enough— you just _had_ to add _one more thing?”_

He blinked rapidly. “I…” His voice was just a rasp. His forehead creased, even with the pain. “I…”

“You’re awake!” she gushed. “Like, _actually _awake!” She ignored the way he was staring at her. She just looked him up and down like she couldn’t believe it. She made a little face, reaching up to fix his hair. “Mal, you have _no _idea how _happy _I am to see you, but you look like a complete mess I want to let you know that. Like, a _giant _one.” She was rambling. Not thinking about what she was saying, just talking, because she was so happy.

“Oh my gosh— this is great, _oh, _I’m just so happy to see you again, I missed you so much! I have so much to tell you— I have so much to _catch you up on, _you wouldn’t believe what Gil did the other day— or— or, _no! Sunshine! _I have to tell you all about Sunshine!” She expected him to react to _this, _at least, but he didn’t. He was stuck staring at her in that odd way. She was starting to wilt, but kept trying to go on anyway. “I’ve— I’ve been watching her, Malcolm, and she’s— she’s just the _cutest _little bird, I…” She trailed off, wilting. The look on his face was getting to her. She started to frown. Everyone else did, too. “…Mal?” she ended up asking weakly. He said nothing. She tilted her head to the side. “What’s wrong…?”

His mouth was already open, but it took a while for him to get anything out. “You’re…” She stiffened when she saw his eyes begin to shine over with tears. “Are…” His voice was so soft it was difficult to hear. Her confusion only built, though, when he pushed himself to speak fully. “Are you…okay…?” She blinked rapidly, straightening at the question. All three of them looked confused. Malcolm was searching her face desperately. She realized that emotion she hadn’t been able to place, that had been throwing her so much: worry. Not _just _worried, either— he looked _terrified. _

When she just stared at him, his eyes watered even more. His lips shook, and his voice was even smaller when he pressed: “Are you— are you okay? You…he didn’t—?” He couldn’t finish. His lips were shaking too severely. Her breath was snatched away from her, with how much fear and remorse and guilt her older brother was looking at her with. She had absolutely _no _idea what he was talking about…but the degree of emotion that was on his face told her whatever it was, it was something important.

It took a second for her to get over her shock. “N—…no, I’m…I’m just fine.” She laughed a little, finding the reassurance odd. But his breath caught, and his eyes widened a little. He looked shocked, by this plain-as-day fact. His lips shook even more. His expression was beginning to break. She frowned, worried she’d done something wrong. “Mal?” He was beginning to cry. His breathing turned punctured and thick. His head started to hang. Ainsley jerked; she looked alarmed for a couple of moments, before she melted, a sad smile tracing over her face. “Mal…” He only cried harder. Jessica and Gil were sharpening with concern, but she just reached out and put her hand on top of his. “Mal, _c’mon…”_ she murmured. “Don’t cry…”

But he did. And now that he’d started, he was only crying harder.

Ainsley’s own eyes started to sting, but she sniffed and kept her smile— kept her voice light. “Mal…why are you crying!? C’mon…I’m fine! Look at me!” She kept her hand on his but put her other on his cheek, bending low to catch his gaze. Her heart broke when their eyes met and Malcolm kept crying. But there was still relieved laughter in her voice when she spoke again. “Why are you crying?” she repeated tearfully. He took his hand away from her, to hold to her wrist, instead. He held onto her desperately. Sobbing, as he clung tight. “Aw…_Mal_, I’m just fine! Nothing happened to me, I’m okay!”

He sniffed, almost gasping too hard to get anything out. “You’re— …you’re okay…” he sobbed.

“Of course!” she reassured. “I’m okay! And so are _you!”_

He just shook his head, smiling from ear-to-ear now. “You’re…you’re _okay!”_ he repeated. She softened and nodded. There was a sinking pit in her stomach as she wondered what had him thinking she _wouldn’t _be. But that wasn’t as important, right now. Not as important as the beam splitting his face— at the fact that his tears were light with happiness now, as he let go of her to reach out. She immediately brought him into a hug. He threw his arm around her neck, pulling her close to him. He ducked his head into her shoulder, shaking with every heavy sob that fell out of his mouth.

She winced a little, but held him close. “I’m okay…” she repeated, weaker this time. “We _both _are.” Her older brother kept weeping, relief trembling every one of his cries. She rubbed his back, sniffing and trying to curb her own tears. “We’re both okay,” she breathed. “Don’t cry…you don’t have to cry…” But it was easier said than done, and she knew it. So she held him, knowing that for some reason, it was what he needed right now. If he needed to hear she was okay, then that was what she would tell him. No matter how many times it took.

“You’re okay…” she continued to murmur, into his ear. “Everything’s okay, Mal…everything’s gonna be just fine.”

And despite her brother’s trembling, and his choked-up crying, she felt lighter. She felt happier.

She felt like for the first time in a _long_ time, that statement might just actually be true.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all like this chapter!! It was certainly very long, it's the longest yet!! I had a lot I wanted to get through, I hope I managed to do everything I wanted to!  
The second half of the chapter is very heavy-- it goes back to fill in a very important stretch of time in Malcolm's kidnapping. So it will be much darker than the first half, but it all serves a purpose and the tags will be updated.  
Anyway, thank you for reading!! I really really hope you like this chapter, and if you do I hope I can hear from you in a review!! ♡♡

They always got along. Brothers and sisters always fought from time to time, sure…but they were always so close. Ainsley put Malcolm up on a pedestal. Oh, she _always_ wanted to be wherever her older brother was. She wanted to talk to his friends, she wanted to play his games, she wanted to show him she was just as cool as she thought _he_ was. Malcolm was always such a patient caring child. Sometimes he might have slipped, and there were arguments— snaps at her to just leave him alone, or go away. But they were few and far between, and they were always resolved fairly quickly.

After Martin was arrested, their dynamic changed. Some would think a family tragedy like that would put barriers up between those affected and those not…Ainsley was too young to even know her father, despite the fact her entire childhood was changed because of him. Jessica had worried it would drive a wedge between them…but it hadn’t. It had actually only made them closer, once they got through the thickest part of it, of course.

Malcolm didn’t talk nearly as much…he never left the house, or did much of anything besides read or be up in his room. That was alright. Ainsley simply changed to deem _those _things as the ‘cool’ things. She was always asking him about ‘brain stuff’ as she called it, and she was always wanting to ‘hang out’ in his room with him. She always thought sleeping on his floor was the _coolest_ thing in the world. She was all the energetic and lively that Malcolm used to be…and _that _helped _him _far more than he probably even knew.

She would get him to take her out places, therefore making him actually step back outside again. She would perk him up for holidays— every time it snowed, even when he didn’t want to, she would drag him outside and demand they make snow angels. He never wanted to celebrate his birthday, but sure enough, every year Ainsley would make it her personal goal to throw the biggest party ever for him and decorate the _entire house_, even _if_ they were the only ones that were going to attend. Malcolm pretended not to care, and yet his happiness had always been apparent.

And though Jessica was less happy to admit…Malcolm had a lot to do with helping raise her. He picked up the slack she sometimes left. When she forgot to sign some permission slip for her school, it turns out Malcolm would have already forged her signature. He helped get her ready in the morning, when Jessica either couldn’t get out of bed or was too hungover to. Whenever she slipped and did things like that, he would always make sure Ainsley didn’t see, either. On the anniversary of her and Martin’s wedding, when she was downstairs drinking and crying, she knew Malcolm had corralled Ainsley _upstairs, _and was currently letting her drone on and on to him about _My Little Pony _purely to ensure she would not leave and see.

Ainsley had cried all day when Malcolm had left for college, even though he’d pointed out he was still going to be very close. When he walked through the doors that very next weekend, she was flying at him and throwing her arms around his neck, screaming that she’d missed him. They kept in touch all the time. They would text, they would call. They trusted each other and they had each other’s backs— what better testament to the fact than to recognize Malcolm had chosen Ainsley to be his emergency contact?

Her children had always gotten along. When they were little, the house was filled with their running footsteps and their shrieking giggles. When they were a little older, there was less laughter, but they could still be heard, always together most of the time, because Ainsley was all Malcolm really had, and she knew some part of her daughter had always been aware of the fact. If she could hear one voice, there was bound to the be other at least somewhere nearby. Though things had changed drastically and could never return to the way they were, they stayed a constant. They were still close— they still cared for one another.

And yet, after everything, it felt like a dream, to hear their voices again, together.

It wasn’t foreign. Her children came over all the time still, as adults. Whether they were just passing through, or whether they were at holiday dinners. She’d heard them before, like this. But the difference was that Jessica had already decided she _wouldn’t_ hear them again, _ever. _She had held onto hope that they would find her son and yet when they’d reached month three – a milestone no other victim had achieved – it grew increasingly difficult. After Gil had choked his way through the story of how Malcolm had actually _called him, _and how they’d found where the killer had kept her son only to discover it abandoned, she began to force herself to face the fact: her son was dead.

It had been difficult, but at the time, there was no other rational explanation. The basement had been bathed with blood and sickness. Gil hard heard nothing on the other end of the phone after Malcolm’s screaming had been cut short. By that point, it had been seven months. She told herself that she would not ever get to see her son again— not _alive. _And with that, came everything else.

She wouldn’t get to see his rare but beautiful smile, again. She would never spend another holiday with him, never call him, never nag him, which she knew he hated but she couldn’t help. She forced herself to come to terms with the fact she would never again hear _both _her children’s voices together. It had been a hard fact. But she had swallowed it. Even when Malcolm _had _been found, she had _still _feared that she would never get it back, when she saw the state of fear he had been trapped in for so long. She’d still thought that her son had died— in a sense, at least. That he would never be okay enough to laugh, to tease, to even _speak, _the way he used to.

So now, to hear their voices again, was such a strange and odd thing. It was a _good _kind of odd…an odd that made her chest feel lighter and made a smile crawl across her face. It made her feel about ten years younger. It wasn’t _exactly _the same. Malcolm’s voice was _much _quieter than it used to be. His replies were usually just a word or two long— the bare minimum. He didn’t laugh along with his sister.

But his voice was _there. _

For right now, that was enough. It was _more _than enough.

Jessica felt nothing but relief and happiness as she lingered outside the study. She was so fixated on her children together, she’d completely forgotten about the fact that Gil was standing right beside her. He was watching them just as happily. Ainsley had just come back into the room, armed with a smile and a birdcage. Inside, Sunshine was going absolutely crazy, excited at the prospect of something new happening.

Of course, once Ainsley had moved back into her room upstairs, she’d stuffed it with all the essentials she’d brought from her apartment. She hadn’t dared to forget Sunshine, in the mix. Jessica had tartly snapped at her that she had to keep the bird upstairs in her room with the door closed. She’d been extra stressed at the time, because they had just gotten Malcolm home with the ambulance— he’d shaken and cried and fought through the first quarter of the ride, when suddenly he had just frozen and shut down.

The paramedic had reassured Jessica he was completely fine and that they were monitoring him closely. But it had scared her when he’d gone completely still, his eyes dead as he stared straight ahead at absolutely nothing. He’d still been shut down when they’d gotten him into his room. She _already _didn’t like the bird— Ainsley choosing _that moment _to ask about it, while Jessica was crouched bedside her son quietly pleading for him to look at her, didn’t really help its case. That’s where Sunshine had stayed, up to now. She’d honestly forgotten the bird was even in the house, to be honest. But here she was again.

Malcolm perked the second Ainsley was rushing back in. He’d already heard her happy chirps, but when he actually saw her, Jessica’s heart was wracked when pain when he smiled. It was slow to grow, but this time at least it wasn’t weak. When Ainsley set the cage down in the corner and opened the door to fish her out, a smile so bright and happy found itself on Malcolm’s face, it was almost painful to look at, head-on. Ainsley beamed. “Look, Sunshine!” The little parakeet was sitting snugly on her finger. She started back over to sit on the edge of Malcolm’s bed. “It’s Malcolm!”

Once Ainsley sat and turned the little bird so she was facing him, Sunshine’s head tilted this way and that, as if she was trying to study him from all angles. Malcolm’s heartbreaking smile stuck as he watched her. He didn’t move to reach for her, or offer his own finger. Ainsley didn’t want to push. The parakeet got distracted, nibbling on Ainsley’s finger, which made her laugh a little. Malcolm’s eyes softened. His voice was quiet and subdued when he spoke. “She’s…here…” he all but whispered. With the volume, Ainsley wasn’t even sure whether or not he meant for her to hear in the first place.

She replied anyway. “Of course she is. And she’s missed you.” His eyes flickered away from the bird, to her instead. Ainsley’s smile wilted a little. “We…went to your apartment, when you didn’t answer anyone’s calls,” she explained, softer. Jessica stiffened, her hands clenching at her sides. Her stomach did a flip, and when she saw Malcolm’s smile leave his face entirely, it was fast to twist itself into a knot. Ainsley kept going, unaware of her mother’s reaction. “I used my key, but…you weren’t there.” Malcolm’s face had fallen entirely, now. The happiness was leaving, when it had barely even had the chance to be there in the first place. That barren, sorrowful look was creeping back, instead.

“We saw you hadn’t left any food for her. So we knew that…something was wrong.” The atmosphere had changed drastically. The heaviness was back— that choking, smothering sorrow that was hard to even _breathe_ around. Sunshine was oblivious to it; she kept nibbling on Ainsley’s finger and bobbing her head, chirping and squeaking endlessly. But suddenly, when Malcolm looked at her, his expression was hollow, and haunted. His stare began to take on that glassy look again, like he wasn’t actually here in the moment— he was somewhere else. Somewhere nobody could reach him. Somewhere he didn’t _deserve _to be.

It took him quite a long time to speak. Even when he did, it didn’t sound like he wanted to.

“How…” Malcolm swallowed thickly. His voice was so small. So fragile. “How…long—?”

_“Ainsley, _I meant to tell you earlier, it completely slipped my mind!” Jessica broke in, rushing to walk back into the room. Malcolm jumped at the interruption— she felt guilt immediately, when she realized that coming in so fast and speaking loud enough to be heard over him was senseless on her part. Her son’s face crowded with fear and panic, before he looked up and realized who it was that had started to talk.

She shot him an apologetic look, but he was already ducking away, his eyes heavy as he focused on the blankets, instead, putting in considerable effort to regularize his breathing again. With him distracted for the time being, she shot her daughter a sharp look, barbed with warning. At first, Ainsley just looked confused, and indignant on Malcolm’s part, which she knew she had every right to be. But at the same time, she had no right to do this _now. _Malcolm wasn’t ready, yet. He’d barley just gotten back to himself. They didn’t need to unload everything on him. They would in time. But that time wasn’t now.

“One of your work friends called asking for you,” she bluffed, keeping her daughter pinned with that warning look. Ainsley’s face fell. She frowned and her eyes flashed when they flickered to her brother. She wilted, when she looked back, getting the message. She didn’t seem happy about it, but that wasn’t any of Jessica’s concern. She didn’t _have _to be happy about it, she just had to understand. “You should probably call them back at some point, they said your phone must have been off or something— you _didn’t answer them.” _The last three words were sharpened— she raised her eyebrows, with them. Ainsley’s eyes went quickly to her brother again, and though they flashed with pain, at least that told Jessica she understood.

“Yeah. Okay,” she mumbled. As good an agreement as any.

Jessica let her stare linger for just a second more, before she looked at Malcolm. All the anger melted away. He was still studying the blankets, but when she leaned down, he looked up at her again. Along with her expression, her voice did a 180 as well. It was warm and loving. “Can I get you anything, sweetheart?” she asked. “Anything at all?” He looked daunted by the simple question— like he didn’t understand how he was supposed to answer. “Are you in pain? Allison is still here, I can ask her if she has anything else she could give you. Or…I could get you more pillows! Are you not comfortable enough?”

He blinked a couple times, before he looked down at the bed. The look on his face was still a little difficult to read. His voice was the same way. But, after he took a couple seconds to think, he answered. His words were soft, and absolutely sweet. “No…I am.” Her heart panged when she wondered if Malcolm was speaking quietly on purpose. If it was just because he might need some water, or if it was some kind of habit of his, to whisper. His fingers curled just a little bit into the quilt. Somehow, he found a way to speak even quieter when he continued. “This is nice…I…” He stopped. His smile wavered.

Immediately, she was trying not to panic. “What’s wrong, honey?”

He hesitated, answering slowly. “Nothing…” he murmured. “I…just…” He trailed off, looking down in the same glassy way— like he was studying the blanket carefully and yet he wasn’t actually seeing it at all. The three watched him close, their worry becoming increasingly apparent with every long second that dragged by. They might have sat like that in the dead silence for ten full seconds, before Malcolm was suddenly snapping out of it.

He blinked a couple times, swallowing hard. “I just…forgot how…comfortable a bed is,” he breathed eventually. There was no bitterness or remorse in his voice. No anger, or resentment or even _sorrow_. He was just stating the fact as he saw it. If anything, the only emotion that existed inside the comment was gratefulness, that he had the opportunity _now _to be in one again. It stabbed right through Jessica— to hear him announce this, and to see his soft little smile. See how he looked down at the bed as if it was the best thing in the entire world, because he had been forced to go without one for a little over a year.

Staring at him and looking at how he kept his grip in the quilt, and how he was studying it, Jessica’s mouth went dry when so many thoughts suddenly occurred to her at once. What had he done in the winter, when it was freezing, and it dropped even colder, at night? When it snowed, and he was stuck in that cabin without any heat available, did Winston take pity on him and at least offer him a blanket? She feared she could see the answer, in the way his fingers smoothed over the quilt gently, like he was afraid of it leaving, or like he couldn’t get enough of feeling it while it was still here. He was so distracted by it, smiling just a little to himself, that he didn’t notice her eyes on him. On the pain that was slowly crawling over her face.

Ainsley was looking at her brother sadly, too. She was just as at a loss for what to say.

They might have sat like that forever, had Sunshine not suddenly realized just who it was that was sitting across from her. With a particularly loud squawk, she flew off Ainsley’s finger straight for Malcolm. The sudden noise had Malcolm jumping all over again, even worse this time when it was accompanied by such a sudden advance. Ainsley stiffened and her eyes went huge when his right arm jerked up. He was either reverting to trying to shield himself, or he was reaching up to smack her away on instinct. She was so terrified of the latter being more likely that she almost yelled out for Malcolm to stop, before he hurt her.

But he caught himself at the last second. He cringed hard and flinched, but he forced his arm to stay still. He was in too much pain for it to move fast enough, anyway. He squeezed his eyes shut like he was bracing himself for something to hurt, but of course, nothing like that happened. Sunshine flew at him and landed right on his head, instead. He was slow to realize it, but when he did – when he felt her little feet skittering around and heard her cooing directly above him – he perked, and started to smile again.

It was a give and take— his head was absolutely killing him right now, and having her on top of it, even if she weighed nothing at all, wasn’t helping. Every tiny stomp of her little feet was making the ball of nausea in his stomach roll a little tighter. But he was smiling, nonetheless. Countless times, Sunshine had done this: make a divebomb for his head. She _loved_ to do it— she could spend hours either just nesting in his hair, or doing her best to run all around and mess it up as much as she could. The fact she was doing it again made him brighten, despite the pain. Ainsley giggled, and though he didn’t laugh, the smile on his face spoke enough volume. It was warm, and it was genuine. Small, but very big, at the same time.

One of Sunshine’s steps was a little _too _excited, though. She stomped a little harder, and Malcolm flinched, not able to hold back a hiss of pain, this time. Ainsley was quick to reach out and put a stop to it. “No, no, Sunshine,” she cooed. The parakeet flapped her wings, squawking angrily this time as she tried to hop away. Thankfully, Ainsley was skilled in trapping her by now. She caught her and held her tight enough so she couldn’t fly away. “Let’s put you back in your cage, for now,” she murmured, turning for the corner and putting her back in. She was very displeased; she ran back and forth on her perch, chirping as if she was trying to plead her case to be released again.

Malcolm’s eyes tracked his little bird. When Ainsley turned back to him, they were still on her. His sister smiled. “You want me to leave her in here?” she asked. Malcolm roused. He looked confused. Ainsley gestured to the cage. “Sunshine. Do you wanna keep her down here, with you? She _is _your bird, after all.” He seemed unsure. Jessica was watching him closely, trying to figure out whether or not all his hesitance stemmed from the fact he was just having a hard time grasping concepts, or if he was just so _used _to never having a say in anything that happened. Feeling sick when she realized it was probably a little of both. “She’s been staying with me upstairs, but I can leave her in here with you.”

Malcolm stayed silent, like Ainsley had asked him a very difficult and complicated question, and he was just trying to think his way through it. Jessica wasn’t entirely sure that was such a good idea. The bird was very noisy— it was one of the things she detested most about it. She might keep Malcolm up at night; not to mention, all that excess noise right now was even _worse_, with the concussion he’d certainly given himself. She didn’t need to help make that pain even worse.

Yet at the same time, Malcolm was used to the noise, anyway. He hadn’t had practice at being around her noise constantly, like he used to be, but hearing it again _now _might make him feel more at home. It might be more familiar— it might root him in the present. Her noise was constant, yes, but perhaps that just meant she would be able to serve as a reminder of where he actually was. It might be an even trade-off. But at the same time…

“She…” He looked at the cage like it was brand new. It seemed to be a theme— this hesitancy, with absolutely everything. It was as if they kept presenting him with foods he’d never seen before that looked absolutely disgusting, demanding he take a huge bite. When Ainsley kept staring at him, waiting for an actual response, he only grew more so. “She can…?” He sounded stunned. “You can…leave her?” It wasn’t an answer so much as it sounded more like he was asking if that was what she’d actually meant.

“I _can,” _she said, sweetly. “It’s up to you. It’s whatever you want, Mal.”

He eyed her warily, looking between her and the cage, where Sunshine still chirped and hopped. “You…” He trailed off again, the ghost of a grimace coming over his face. Ainsley wilted, as she stared at her brother. She glanced at Jessica, who looked just as disheartened. Her chest tightened when she saw her son’s eyes linger on Sunshine, and saw the longing he was trying to hold back, for some reason. He _wanted_ to say yes— that much was certain. But for some reason, he wasn’t letting himself.

She took the job. “You might as well just leave her down here, Ainsley,” she said. Malcolm glanced at his mother, his eyes flashing. She tried not to make it too noticeable she was watching him out of the corner of her eye, but she saw his rush of relief. Her heart ached when she realized just how bad it was— that her son still didn’t feel safe enough to even say yes to a simple question of whether or not to keep his own bird in his room. She tried to push the thought aside, though; it hurt too much to linger on.

“It’ll be harder work taking her up the steps than down,” she went on. “And she looks as though she might have missed Malcolm. You may as well leave her a little while longer. As long as that’s alright with you, dear,” she added on at the last second, turning to look at her son with a tender smile. After a pause, he smiled back. The gesture was tiny but it was warming her as soon as she saw. As Ainsley came back to sit on his bed again, Jessica repeated herself. “Are you _sure_ you don’t need anything, darling?” Malcolm’s expression pinched again. She tried to speak brightly, despite it. “Is your head still hurting? I could get you some water…do you want something to eat?”

The question came automatically, without thought. She remembered herself, the instant she asked, and saw the look that came over her son’s face. His expression seeped with discomfort. Her face fell, and she opened her mouth to try and find some way to take it back. But he was looking away, down at the blankets again. His voice sounded weak, and injured. “Uh— no…no, not…right now…” The second he said it, he seemed almost confused. Though he didn’t take it back, he _did _frown, as though he found something odd.

She waited, to see if he had a question. But apparently, whatever he was wondering, it wasn’t for her. He didn’t say anything else; he didn’t raise his head. Jessica was pained, but she put her smile back on. She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder; he looked up at her fast, tensing. He relaxed when their eyes met, though, and she softened, moving to hold her hand gently against his cheek. Pain and happiness alike were lingering in his blue eyes. “I’ll get you a glass of water,” she murmured gently.

His lips twitched a little, and her heart wrenched when she saw a flash of _something _in his expression. She couldn’t tell what it was— she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. That fact _alone_ hurt her almost more than words could say: that she didn’t know what was hurting her son. She was just doing this to try and make him feel better, yet he was still reacting poorly, somehow, like something was wrong. But he didn’t say anything— he just stared at her with that same odd look, and in that look, at least she could see the tiniest sense of hesitant gratitude. So she tried to push everything else out of her mind and just focus on that. She smiled, letting her hand linger for a moment before she turned and left.

Ainsley was fast to pipe up again. “Hey, so look what I made for you on Spotify…”

Jessica started to make for the kitchen. Gil was still lingering in the hall. The look on his face was just as hurt as hers was, she was sure. She tried not to notice and continue walking, but he stopped her. “Pretty soon he’s not going to let you avoid his questions,” he murmured, barely audible. There was no accusation hiding in his words— he was just being genuine. All he looked, was worried.

Despite that, the instant he started to speak, anger coiled in her stomach. “I am doing what is _best _for my son,” she hissed through her teeth. Gil looked at her despairingly, saying nothing. “The longer I can keep my son happy, the better off he will be. We do _not _need to tell him everything that happened right away. It would be too much for him— he would shut down. We are going to _wait, _for as _long _as we can. And that _includes _you,” she growled. “You don’t say _anything. Not _unless he does. Understand?”

He continued to stare helplessly at her. He glanced over her shoulder, at Malcolm. Ainsley was showing him her phone, chattering on about something. Malcolm was silent, just listening, but there was the tiniest smile on his face. It was unsure, but it was there, and just _seeing _it, pained Gil beyond words. He ripped his eyes away, looking back at Jessica; she was still fixing him with a harsh look, waiting for him to fight. _Daring_ him to. He couldn’t. After a long pause, Gil just looked down at the floor, in clear defeat.

She nodded once, no satisfaction on her face. Then she turned on her heel, making for the kitchen.

Gil kept his eyes down, feeling his stomach open with guilt and sorrow and lingering anger. Something caught at the edge of his vision and he looked more to the side, his eyes flashing with even more pain when they landed on the root beer sucker Malcolm had given him. He was still holding it tight. His chest ripped in pain when he saw it again. Slowly, he twirled it between his pointer finger and thumb, feeling hollower and hollower. He looked back up.

At Ainsley, forcing herself to smile and talk and seem alright.

At Malcolm, less than _half _the weight he was supposed to be, bearing horrible scars that told harrowing tales of torture none of them could begin to imagine, smiling a little but also clearly struggling to hold himself together at the same time. Too weak to even sit up by himself. Pale, and sick-looking.

He looked at his two kids and what they’d been forced to become. His eyes fixated on Malcolm, and his stomach twisted with the thought of lying to him, or keeping things from him he deserved to know. It didn’t seem right. But…_nothing _seemed right anymore. Was there _even _a right move, anymore? Or was everything from here on out tainted, because of where it all had started?

He had no idea. All he knew was that he was struggling to keep himself from crying all over again.

He bit it all back. Stuffed it down. And just held onto the sucker just a little bit tighter.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

His eyes were getting heavier. His gaze was growing fuzzier by the second. Tooth and nail, he was trying to fight the urge to sleep. Over time it had gotten worse and by now, even though it was just barely inching its way into six at night, Malcolm was starting to nod off.

They’d all noticed, but nobody had said anything. Mostly because they didn’t want to upset him. But also because…they were selfish. It was clear he didn’t want to sleep, but _they _didn’t want him to sleep, either. The situation was ever-changing. The fact that he had snapped into this rationality in the first place was amazing— nobody had expected it. If he went to sleep, what if he woke up again right back where he’d started? What if this lucidity was just as fleeting as all the other scraps he’d had before?

The mere _thought _of losing just the tiniest bit of him again, was what was leaving everyone to turn the same blind, albeit guilty, eye.

But eventually, it got to be too severe _not_ to address it.

They were all together, in the room. The night nurse was always right on time at 6:30 pm. They still had that entire half hour before she got there, and though they’d been trying to savor the time they would have with Malcolm until then, it was obvious he couldn’t last much longer.

Ainsley was telling some story about how she had to do a report at a doggy daycare and the first puppy she’d picked up had immediately gotten sick all over her, right on camera. Gil was at least pretending to listen, but Jessica’s eyes were only for her son. Her expression was strained as she looked at how hard he had to try just to keep his eyes open. It was clear he’d stopped trying to follow things a long time ago. Her hand was resting gently on top of his right one, like it had been for the last hour. Even when he was awake, he hadn’t taken his hand away from her. Now, there wasn’t a chance. His eyes closed and stayed that way for nearly ten full seconds. But then he was forcing them open again. Her heart tugged.

She added the tiniest bit of pressure, to get his attention. It took a couple seconds for it to register, but eventually, it did. He took in a slower, deeper breath, dragging his head over. He ended up just letting it fall limp to the side, just because it was easiest. He grimaced, from the pain the simple shift elicited. But he shoved it away. When he looked at her, she smiled lovingly, drawing her thumb along the back of his hand.

He blinked groggily, before he lifted the corners of his lips into a bleary smile. It barely reached his eyes, purely because he was so tired. His lips barely moved when he sighed out a tiny: “Hi.” The one word grabbed Jessica’s heart and yanked on its strings hard. Her smile grew two times as big. Malcolm couldn’t really see it— his eyes were closing again.

She softened, reaching out with her other hand to draw her fingers lovingly through his hair, brushing back his bangs and tucking the sides behind his ears. His eyes stayed closed, but she saw his lips twitch into a little smile again. Her chest was so hot with love, it was practically burning. “Sweetheart…we can let you go to sleep…” she murmured. He wormed his eyes open once more. His smile was fading. “You look exhausted…” She kept carding through his hair, soothing and reassuring.

He inhaled sharply through his nose, wincing blearily. By now Ainsley and Gil had broken off from their pointless conversation; they were looking at Malcolm with just as much pinched sympathy as Jessica was. If he noticed, he didn’t show it. “Nnn…” He sighed, shifting his head and wincing at the pain it caused. “’m…fine…I don’t…wanna…go t’…” He trailed off, without finishing. His eyes closed and his expression cleared. For a couple heartbeats, they were tempted to believe that he’d just fallen asleep right there. But at the last second, he stirred again. His eyes didn’t open, but he _did _breathe out: “’mfine…’m not…tired…”

“You’re a horrible liar, Mal,” Ainsley piped up. He managed to look at her, and she smiled, tilting her head as she softened. “We can shut up, Mal. We can clear out; you need to sleep.”

“’m…no, I’m good. I’m good.” He took his hand away from Jessica’s, to rub at his eyes. He tried to move to sit up more. The instant he was making the attempt, though, his sides were screeching at him to stop. A tiny choke died in his chest, and he flinched, ducking his head and cringing. He gritted his teeth and tried to gasp through the pain. Yet the second Jessica started to try and say something, he was repeating himself. His voice was clenched, with the pain now wrapping around his upper chest. “’m…I’m— fine…” He grimaced, barely getting it out. He breathed heavily, falling silent. He looked miserable.

Jessica wilted. After a moment, she went back to running her fingers through his hair again. She watched sadly as he caught his breath again. As he slowly untensed, little by little bit. “Sweetheart…” He looked five seconds away from sleep, but he was still refusing it. “Sweetheart…you need to rest. You need to let yourself sleep…”

His eyes were fluttering closed over and over again. But he managed to look after her after some struggling; the look on his face as he stared up at her made her heart hurt. He was quiet for a long couple seconds, before he rasped: “I can’t…” She looked confused. But her puzzlement cleared, when he continued to mumble, his words beginning to slur, he was so tired. “I can’t…’f I…” He grimaced, starting over, his voice even weaker, somehow. “I’m…t’ scared…t’ fall asleep…” Her stomach twisted. Her hand stilled in his hair. Malcolm’s eyes closed but the distress stayed on his face.

“You’re…” Jessica shook her head. Her voice was already getting thicker. “Honey, you don’t need to worry,” she promised. “The _moment any of us _hear you start to have a nightmare, we’ll make sure to—”

_“No,_ it’s…” He opened his eyes again; this time he dragged his eyes over to Gil and Ainsley too. His foggy eyes broke with pain. His lips shook as he tried to croak out: “I’m scared…you’ll…” 

All three of them deflated, realizing what he was meaning at the same time.

Jessica took a moment to steady herself, before she leaned to the side a little. The second she was entering his peripherals again, he was looking back at her, his expression stricken and lost and scared. Everything her son usually never let himself show. “Honey…you can go to sleep. When you wake up, we will _still _be here.” Her voice shook, with her certainty. He still looked doubtful. She shook her head. “Don’t be scared to fall asleep, Malcolm,” she murmured. “We’ll be here when you wake up. I _promise.” _

He grimaced, still distressed. He said nothing, but she could see he kept trying to fight. She wondered whether or not he was even aware of the fact he was, anymore, or if he was just doing it automatically. “Sweetheart…” Every so often, she could see his flash of blue. All the resistance he was still struggling to hang onto. She weakened, looking at the other two. They looked just as pained as she felt.

Remembering what she often did when he woke up from nightmares, Jessica turned back to him. Her hand slid down to his cheek; slowly, and lightly, she began to run her thumb back and forth, tracing the bone she could feel much too prominently. At first, he seemed to know what she was trying to do. His head moved on his pillow just a little and his breathing hitched. But it worked just as well as it had the many times before. He didn’t even last another three minutes. It wasn’t long at all before he was sighing, all his muscles relaxing and his face clearing of the last bits of distress he’d been clinging to.

His breathing turned deep and even. _Finally_, her son fell asleep.

The three did absolutely nothing. They didn’t even look at each other. Their expressions were carbon copies of one another’s…relieved, happy, overjoyed…but also sad, and angry, and apprehensive.

Jessica kept stroking his cheek, even though he was already fast asleep.

She studied her son with apprehension and unease.

Once she knew he couldn’t see, she let it all bubble up to the surface.

Terrified that her son’s fear was absolutely correct…but that when he woke up, it wouldn’t be _them _that would be gone…but that it would be _him._

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The instant he fell asleep, Malcolm stayed that way. Chrystal, the night nurse, came in at the same time she always did. And, like she always did, she had a laundry list of things she needed to get done. At first, they were wary, fearing that he’d be woken up, only half an hour after he’d finally given into sleep. But they’d underestimated how exhausted he’d actually been. He didn’t so much as twitch, or open an eye.

He didn’t stir when she pulled the top half of his gown away, listening to his lungs and his heart, and surveying the healed ulcers that had been plaguing his sides when he had been found— remnants of laying on the floor for extended periods of time, unable to move or redistribute the smallest ounce of weight. He didn’t even rouse when, with Gil’s help, she turned him so she could look at his back, at the ulcers that had been _there_, too. He slept through a heparin injection in the stomach. And when she had to take out the IV to replace it, he didn’t bat an eye either— even when it took her two sticks to get it right.

Jessica’s heart was heavy as she watched the nurse slide another IV into her son. They only kept them in around three days, before they were taking it out and inserting another in a different spot. After all of this, his arm was left lined with so many bruises— purple and blue and black against his ghostly-pale skin. It looked like it hurt so much…that it just added to all the pain that was _already_ there. It pained her, to see them, and to watch as, when Chrystal carefully removed the one that had already been in his arm, she quickly had to press a thick gauze pad against where it had been, and tape it into place. With all the anticoagulants he was on, blood was gushing out the second it was removed. She pressed her thumb down over the gauze, applying more pressure to hopefully help.

Still, despite all this, Malcolm slept. Peacefully, and deeply.

Chrystal continued to check off her laundry list— she hung a bag of fluids, ensuring it would be administering over the hours she was there, so she could make sure it went smoothly. Again, with Gil’s help, she turned Malcolm so he was laying more on his side, arranging all the pillows so he could rest comfortably. She thanked Gil for his help, as she took to sliding pillows underneath both of Malcolm’s arms, but the man barely acknowledged her. He just stared down at Malcolm in silence, something heavy on his face. Whenever he leaned out to help – to grab Malcolm’s shoulder and gently lift it, or shift him so that he wasn’t smushed on one side – he handled him with all the care in the world, like he was made of glass. And he always let his hands linger on him briefly, like he was too afraid of letting go.

Jessica noticed all of it. It was twisting her stomach even more.

His look stayed, as the hours passed. They all stayed in the room, awkwardly watching in silence as Chrystal worked. Often, Jessica would interject or ask a question, but that was it. The expression stayed on his face, and it only got worse. Jessica realized just _why _he looked that way, when she noticed the clock. It was almost nine. She glanced from him, to the time on her phone. He looked haggard and worn. Like he might start to cry.

She was speaking before she even realized it. “It’s getting late.” Her voice was quiet in the silence.

Gil’s eyes flashed, when she finally said what he’d clearly been dreading. For a heartbeat, it looked like he was going to try and argue. But as soon as the fight was building on his tongue, it was falling away from him. His face fell, as he looked back at Malcolm, mournfully this time. When Ainsley saw Gil deflate, she looked at her mom pleadingly. Jessica didn’t see, though— she was staring Gil down, who just kept looking at her son, filled with regret and sorrow unfathomably deep.

She was silent for just a few more seconds. Before she ducked her head and took in a slow breath.

“Ainsley, you can set Gil up in one of the guest bedrooms upstairs,” she said curtly, after a sharp breath. The two perked at the sudden instruction. They looked at her, but she focused on Chrystal instead, watching as she gently peeled back the bandage on her son’s forehead, to assess the stitches there. “I don’t care which one. It’s just getting late.” She left it at that. She meant to keep her eyes forward, and not look at Gil. But she felt his gaze burning into her, and she found her eyes being drawn there anyway.

Ainsley was already standing, stretching out the stiffness in her back and legs, but Gil was frozen. He stared at Jessica with disbelief— _shock_. When her eyes met his stricken ones, her lips tightened, pressing into a thinner-than-normal line. Though Gil was radiating gratitude and relief, it wasn’t helping her at all. In fact, it was making it even worse. He opened his mouth to stutter something out, but she couldn’t listen. Her voice was more rigid when she ended up snapping out: _“Now.” _

Gil closed his mouth, slowly. All the happiness that slapped him across the face was leaving.

Ainsley eyed her mother with an expression between reproach and despair, but then shook her head to clear it. She tapped Gil’s shoulder, and once he finally pried his eyes away from Jessica, he realized she was waiting for him. He kept his mouth shut; he knew Jessica didn’t want to hear anything from him, and he knew better than to try and press his luck— especially now. So he just stood and followed Ainsley out, nearly shaking with relief regardless. He would likely leave to go fetch things from his place, afterward. But at least this way, he didn’t have to leave and wonder if Malcolm was okay all night long.

Once they left, Jessica let the stoic façade fall. She wilted and weakened. Chrystal caught this. Her eyes flashed, but she must have decided that trying to piece apart this situation would be as constructive as searching for a needle in a haystack. She didn’t comment on it. When she did look at her, it was with apologetic sympathy, but Jessica knew it wasn’t for _her. _She guessed what she was about to say a heartbeat before it got out of her mouth.

“I’m sorry…but I’ve gotta wake him up for the rest of this…” She was pained at the idea. Malcolm had been so exhausted, and so far he’d slept without having any nightmares at all. For him, going a handful of hours at a time without some sort of disturbance was something close to a miracle. Waking him up now might be ruining that…but she knew they didn’t really have an option. Tiredly, she nodded her head, regret already sinking its dull claws into her heart.

Chrystal leaned down, reaching out and putting a gentle hand on Malcolm’s right shoulder. “Hey, Malcolm…” He didn’t move. She raised her voice just a little. “Malcolm. Hey…” He groaned weakly, and the tiny noise may as well have slapped Jessica across the face. But the nurse brightened, and she brightened even more when he forced his eyes to open. He looked even more disoriented than he had when he’d been fighting sleep, somehow. His gaze was dull and vacant as he stared straight ahead with half-lidded eyes. He was bordering right on the edge of sleep and awareness. Barely in either.

“Sorry, Malcolm, but I need to ask you a few questions— I need to make sure your head is okay. Alright?” He didn’t react, but his eyes were at least staying that half-open. Jessica automatically put her hand on top of his; he didn’t even look at her. Chrystal continued, hoping she had a good enough amount of his attention. “Malcolm, can I get you to count backwards from five for me?” His eyes were sliding closed. She tapped gently on his shoulder, to get them to stay open. “Malcolm. Count backwards from five for me, real quick. After a few more questions, you can go back to sleep.”

His eyes closed again. But he took in a deep breath and began to sigh out the request. “Five…fffour…th— …ree…two…’ne…” Jessica smile as if she was proud. She held his hand a little tighter.

“Perfect. And can you tell me what this is?” She held out her pen.

He fought just to be able to _see_. His murky gaze fixed on it after a couple of seconds. They closed once they found their target and he could answer, “’s a…pen…”

“Yup! Do you feel nauseous at all?” A pause, before he barely twitched his head in a nod. She frowned. “Any pain?” Again, that twitch. “What would you rate your pain, on a scale of one to ten?”

The answer came after a long pause. “…eigh— …_t_…” He cringed blearily the second he answered.

“Okay…I’ll see if I can’t get you something for that. But first, I’m gonna check your neuro status. Can you tell me your name and date of birth?” She waited, but this time he didn’t answer. She tapped his shoulder again. When he roused, he whined a little. “I know, but I just need you to answer this _real _quick. Before I can get you anything else for the pain. Here— let’s start one at a time. Just give me your name.”

Again, it took a buffering moment. “M…Mal…colm,” he breathed.

She nodded. “Okay. What’s your last name?” When he didn’t answer, she prompted: “What’s your _full _name? Malcolm, what?”

Jessica squeezed his hand again, encouragingly.

His reply was just as slow and quiet as all the other ones. “Malcolm…Whitly…”

Jessica’s face fell. She looked up, confused and alarmed as she looked at her son. His eyes were still closed, and he was too out of it to feel the change in the air, with her reaction. Sorrow and puzzlement alike were mingling so closely in her expression, it was hard to tell which emotion was which. She looked at Chrystal like she was expecting an answer from her, but she seemed just as confused. She was looking at his chart, frowning at the discrepancy. Pursing her lips, she made a note, her gaze thoughtful.

Jessica turned back to him, lost. He hadn’t referred to himself as Malcolm _Whitly _for _years _now. He was vehemently opposed to _anyone_ making the mistake of not calling him ‘Bright.’ She gave him grief about the name change, purely because it felt like he was distancing himself from _her, _along with his father. She used to _wish _he would call himself Whitly…but she knew it would never actually occur. That her son had set himself aside and he had done so for a reason he was certainly never going to budge on.

Yet here he was. Choosing to call himself Whitly…after _years._

“He…” Her voice stuck in her throat. “He must— he must just be tired,” she stuttered out. Chrystal eyed her. Jessica fought to collect all her pieces back together, and wipe the emotion off her face. “He’s…he’s just very tired, he doesn’t— he hasn’t called himself that in years, he has…no _reason _to call himself that…” She tried to laugh it off, like it was silly. The attempt sounded hollow.

Chrystal just smiled at her. “Of course,” she replied. Then turned back to his chart.

Jessica tried to ignore how patronizing the two words sounded.

And how much dread she felt, when she looked back at her son, who had fallen back asleep.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

There was a loud bang. A tiny _“Ouch!” _

Malcolm pried his eyes open little by little. He was foggy and disoriented. Even when he opened his eyes, he had to blink a few times, just to get his vision to settle. Everything was still a little blurry. He dragged his head towards the noise. His mind was slow and sluggish, but it was already beginning to kick into gear. To take this tiny noise and tease it and rip it apart. _He’s here…that’s him, he’s already back, he’s going to hurt me, he’s— _

His heart was just beginning to pick up, when he focused his vision enough to actually see. He blinked fast, once he did. It wasn’t dark. He wasn’t on the floor. He wasn’t looking at his captor, advancing towards him. The room was bright, with sunlight. He was still comfortable, in a bed. The noise had come from Ainsley, who was currently doubled over, her face creased with pain. She was holding her arm, and when he looked at her, she twisted to show him, flopping it a little. “I hit my funny bone,” she whined.

Malcolm blinked slower. His eyes flashed.

When he didn’t say anything, she flopped it again. “It feels all weird,” she pressed. “Tingly.”

He kept staring. Eventually, he dragged himself out of sleep enough. The realization started to dawn over him. A tiny smile worked its way over his face. His voice was muddled with sleep, but it was light at the same time when he murmured a quiet: “’m sorry…”

She smirked. She walked the few more steps it took and sat on his bed. “Sorry I woke you up.”

He smiled, shaking his head a little. “S’okay…” he whispered.

She softened. The two of them stared at one another for a moment, too happy to speak.

He looked at the clock. It was almost _nine. _He’d slept for…fifteen hours? _How? _He hardly ever got more than four, usually! He looked down at himself. He was tucked away under two blankets. He had about five pillows around him. He wished he could grab the blankets and curl up tight underneath. Right now, he wasn’t in too much pain. Mostly, right now, it was stiffness. The sleep still clinging to him was making it easier. He knew it probably wouldn’t last. He let out another sigh. “’m still tired…” he breathed. Ainsley wilted, but she kept her smile. Especially when she saw _his_ twitch back into place. “It’s…so comfortable…” Her heart pained at the sheer happiness in his voice at such a simple thing. “I don’t wanna move…”

“You don’t have to,” she reassured. “If Mom had it _her_ way, you’d probably never move _ever_ again, so my bet is that you’re just fine.” He seemed happy, with that. They sat in silence for a couple seconds, smiling at one another. Ainsley’s eyes flickered to the tube feeding still going at his bedside. Allison had been in this morning and slowed the rate even more. They were all getting anxious to see him eat. “You…must be hungry,” she offered gently. “I could get you something…even something _small.”_

He didn’t answer. And when his eyes fell to the mattress, and they landed on his arm, the offer slipped his mind entirely. Instead, he did a tiny double-take. His blinking was still slow and his expression was still a little groggy, but it was clearing gradually. Now, it was clearing with every additional, confused blink of his. He lifted his arm up with a tiny grimace and he looked at it oddly. At first, she thought it was just because of the IV that had been inserted as of last night…and all the other bruises that were left behind from _past _ones. But that wasn’t what he was looking at. He was looking at the _rest _of it.

His puzzlement grew. He turned his arm back and forth, looking at it from all sides. She had to focus on only studying his face— otherwise, she knew she would look too, and she wouldn’t be able to fight her grimace. His arm was pale, just like the rest of him. It bore scars from injuries she couldn’t and didn’t _want_ to imagine. There were small, circle-like scars, like you might get from cigarettes being put out on your skin. There were thin white lines that crisscrossed from the back of his arm to the front of it. There was barely any muscle left— the bones of his wrist jutted out glaringly. The rest of his bones weren’t _as _defined, but they were still clearly visible.

This was the first time he was actually noticing. His eyes went wide, when they finally shook off the fog of sleep. That was alarming in itself, to see. But then he twisted his arm and saw the _front_. Ainsley couldn’t keep herself from flinching, this time. She cringed away, not wanting to see it at all and _definitely _not wanting to see his reaction.

He was looking at the thin, white slashes. There were only a handful. But they were telling. The first one was heavier, more defined, right across his wrist. There were others underneath, in a series like ladder rungs. Smaller and thinner, but still the same horizontal slices. He froze, and fell silent. She dared to bring her head up enough to look at him, and her heart hurt the second she did. When she saw how confused and _scared _he looked. She could _see _him struggling to remember how he got them. What had led to the injury. Only growing _more_ scared when he couldn’t recall.

“What…?” Ainsley was already dreading the question. But before he could ask, he got distracted, his eyes being dragged to his wrist and the glaringly-obvious bones visible in the joint. It seemed to bring an even _scarier_ thought to him. He asked a _different _question. His eyes widened even more. It was like his tongue was suddenly numb. “How…” Her stomach plummeted. “How…long was I—?”

“You know what, I should go get Mom, she wanted to tell you something once you finally got up,” she interrupted. He blinked rapidly, turning his confused look to her. She couldn’t bring herself to meet it. It made her too guilty. Her mother’s pointed look was in her head, keeping her from being able to let him ask the questions she knew he needed to ask. That he _deserved _to be able to ask. She got up and started to rush out the door but guilt made her stop. She turned back around, forcing herself to look at him one more time. Trying to ignore how lost and crestfallen he looked.

She wilted. Almost gave in. “Malcolm— you…” She trailed off. Fought not to grimace when she reeled it back and just forced another smile. “I’ll be back,” she promised instead. “With Mom.” He just stared at her. She waited a couple more seconds before she turned and started to rush out to her mom.

But he stopped her short yet again. “Ainsley.” She grimaced. But pushed it away when she looked back. She expected him to press her for an actual answer, but she straightened when she saw that his confusion was gone. He looked much more solemn. He’d let his arm drop back down. When their eyes met, he smiled. Barely. Her confusion only grew, before he whispered: “I’m glad you’re still here.”

Her guilt faded; a smile curled her lips up into a grin. The guilt stayed, but it was lessened in the face of his grin and softness. Her reply was just as relieved and warm when she whispered back: “Me too.”

He smiled more. She turned and left. He stared after her.

The second he was sure she’d gone, his smile fell.

He looked back down at his arm. At how skinny it was— at the cuts that were there.

His expression slowly hollowed back into that confused horror.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“Try it yourself,” she encouraged, her voice sweet.

He was already in a severe amount of pain. The covers had been taken off his lower half. They’d been going through passive range of motion exercises for just about five minutes. Despite the fact it hadn’t been that long, pain was already beginning to make him shake and break out in a cold sweat. It was the first time he’d actually moved his ankles – much less moved them _this _much – and he hadn’t even been the one _doing_ the moving. So far, it had all been the nurse, stretching out the joint by gingerly guiding his foot in circles, or back and forth.

When she said this, he cringed deeper. He took in a slow, shaking breath, before he tried to point his toes. The instant it was so much as twitching, he was gasping, flinching back into the bed. Allison’s eyes lit up with sympathy, as his began to tear up. “You’re doing _very well_, Malcolm,” she said. Somehow, he didn’t quite believe her. “Keep trying.” He locked his jaw back, and forced himself to do it again. Pain wrapped hard around his ankle, but this time, whimpering through it, he got at least halfway flexed. But it was the most he could do. With a hard exhale like a sob, he gave up, staring up at the ceiling with despair.

But she sounded nothing but pleased. “Good! That’s _good_, Malcolm!” He eyed her. She just smiled more, though when she spoke, his voice grew soberer. “You had a _very _bad fracture. In _both _ankles,” she reminded. His heart was heavy as he looked at them. He tried to _remember _them being broken. He thought he did…he thought he remembered pain. Not able to get up anymore. Trying but failing. Hearing laughter. “It’s going to take a lot to be able to get the strength back in them. So that’s why even when I leave, you have to keep working on getting some motion back in them, okay? It’ll take practice.”

He just nodded. The disappointment and sorrow on his face was clear.

She softened. “Let me get you some pain medicine,” she offered.

Malcolm watched as she started out of the study. The second she was leaving, someone _else _was coming in. Out of habit, Malcolm tensed. Gil faltered, when he saw his eyes widen just a little. His face fell. Malcolm’s right hand began to tremble but he quickly clenched it tight, shoving everything out of the way and snapping at himself to focus. “Gil…” Despite the fear he’d had at first, and the fear that was still lingering with him, his voice was warm. So was his smile. “You’re still here.” He’d seen him already— everyone had come in with Ainsley and Jessica when he’d woken up. But that had been hours ago.

Gil smiled. “Of course I am,” he said, walking closer. “Where else would I be?”

“I thought you would have been at work.”

“No…” He dragged up a chair. He was relieved to see that Malcolm was beginning to relax more and more. “I told them I’d…take a break, for a while.” Malcolm frowned. “They understood…I guess being on the force for so long gets you _some _leeway.” He tried to make his voice light, like he was joking. But there wasn’t really a punchline. He grew much more solemn, trying not to be obvious about it but failing miserably. “I’d…rather be here,” he ended up declaring hollowly.

For a heartbeat, it looked like Malcolm was going to follow his lead. But after the pause, he lifted his lips into a weak, wry smile, instead. “You’d rather be _here?_ Is watching me sleep _that _interesting?” Gil cracked a grin. “Or is it the ‘Failing at Even Pointing My Toes’ thing that’s the real selling point?” His smile weakened— Malcolm noticed. He looked away, at the quilt instead. He was cold…he wanted to cover himself back up, but moving his arm right now seemed too big an ordeal.

Gil’s heart panged when he saw the kid’s eyes grow softer— more wistful. His voice was hushed when he murmured: “I’d much rather be out there…” The way he said it, and how soft he said it, made him wonder if it was even meant for him in the fist place. Sure enough, when Malcolm’s eyes flickered to him, they flashed, and he seemed to tense again. He tacked on a little louder: “If I were you…anyway.” Gil didn’t know what to say. For a long while, they sat in silence, until Malcolm tried to break it. It was a tall order, with his small and raspy voice. “How have you been?”

The question was odd. So…simple, in essence. But _not at all, _really. It was growing steadily harder for Gil to smile. “You know me, kid…I’m always the same.” Malcolm still looked expectant. He shook his head. “I’m…not the important one,” he murmured. He thought of how Malcolm had looked underneath that tarp. How he’d been covered in blood, how all his screaming and crying had been reduced to broken hisses. His throat began to burn. He felt it all bottle up, just waiting to burst out on his tongue. It almost did.

But he held it back. Locked it all away. “It’s not about me,” he clarified, a little thicker.

Malcolm searched his face. “…No it’s not,” he objected softly. Gil perked, confused. “It’s not _just_ about me…it’s about _you_, too…” He was too surprised to say anything. It left the silence for him to continue. “And Mother…and Ainsley…” He hesitated. Looked down at himself, before he looked back up at Gil and forced out: “I might’ve…been the only one that was— hurt_, _but…I wasn’t the only one that was…_hurt._” Gil opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His eyes were getting mistier. Malcolm tried to smile. The effort was weak. “And…I just…wanna hear about you. I missed you…”

The last three words punched him in the gut. Gil felt his lips shaking. When he spoke, he didn’t actually answer him. “I missed you, too.” The declaration was cracked and splintered.

Malcolm softened. They smiled at one another. Gil opened his mouth, starting to murmur: “Malcolm…I—” He was cut off, by a sudden ringing. Malcolm started, at the unexpected noise. The jolt had him immediately grimacing and hissing in pain. Gil rushed to mute his phone, guilty as he stuffed it away. “Sorry…it was— just work. I didn’t realize the ringer was still on...” Malcolm’s expression stayed wary. But his eyes followed the device, and Gil could see the question that was there. “It was Dani,” he clarified.

It took Malcolm a moment. To scramble over the hurdle that fear had put up in front of him. But once he did, something in him changed. Most of the fear melted away— something sparked to life, in his eyes, and tugged at the corner of his mouth. He looked surprised. Pleasantly so. For some reason, seeing his reaction hurt. “Dani?” he echoed softly. Gil nodded. Malcolm’s grin was slow— like he wasn’t sure whether or not he _wanted_ to smile. “H-…Dani, how is she?” He sounded scared to ask.

“She’s fine— she’s just fine.” He hesitated, before he continued, trying to tread slowly. “She was…well, we _all _were…doing everything we could to find you. Mostly…we’ve just been going in circles this past—” He broke off, the very second he was about to say ‘year.’ He moved on quickly, hoping Malcolm hadn’t noticed. “She was really worried about you. So was JT.” Malcolm’s smile had been growing, but at this last part, he stopped short. Disbelief colored his smile, instead.

“What?” he asked, in almost a scoff. “_He_ was worried about _me?”_

“In his own way,” Gil reasoned. “You know how he is.”

“I would’ve thought he’d enjoy the break,” Malcolm teased, laughter hiding under his words. “I pictured him…throwing some…kind ‘f…” He trailed of, something making him stop. His forehead creased. Something…something wasn’t right. He had that _feeling _again; like he was missing something. Like he was staring at a jigsaw puzzle that was _almost _complete, but he was missing whatever pieces were still needed. There was…something about JT…_wasn’t there? _His expression was clouding the more he groped for it.

Gil noticed; immediately, he was wondering what he did wrong. “Malcolm?”

He kept staring off into space, but his mouth slowly began to move again. “I…sorry, it’s…” He looked at him, as if _he _might have an answer. “I just…feel like there’s…something…” Gil’s eyebrows knitted. Malcolm’s right hand was shaking, again; he clenched it tight. “I…don’t _remember…anything…_not _clearly…” _The man’s stomach dropped. Malcolm’s apprehension was growing. “It’s all…muddled, it’s…everywhere, I…feel like I don’t…_know _anything…”

Gil stared at him for a long moment. His words blurted out before he even realized what he was going to say. “You called me.” Malcolm’s confusion doubled. Gil felt like the room was rocking. It only felt worse, when their eyes met, and he saw how blank Malcolm’s were. “You…you don’t remember calling me?”

“From…_there? _I called you from…how did I do that?” he breathed.

Gil’s mouth was dry. “I…I don’t know,” he rasped eventually. 

Malcolm’s forehead creased. “What…what did I _say?”_ He was struggling to remember even a fraction of what Gil was talking about, but he was coming up empty. He…remembered…he could remember getting a phone…_somehow. _He remembered…dialing, only because his hands had been shaking almost too hard for him to do it in the _first_ place. But he didn’t remember anything after that. Just like all his other memories, he was hitting a wall— one he couldn’t get around. That same blank, terrified confusion was just meeting him, instead. He had absolutely nothing.

“You…” Suddenly, all his words were getting stuck. “You were…scared. You…didn’t know where you were, all you knew was that it was a cabin…” Malcolm blinked rapidly, stiffening again. A…cabin…_yes_…he remembered the wood paneling. The stairs— there were stairs, and the floor was hard, it was…stone? He would wake up aching— he hadn’t had a bed. It had smelled horrible. And— and…_If you’re thinking of counting the wood paneling, I already beat you to it. Spoiler alert…there’s fifty-two planks. I think. _He made a face. Not sure why that was coming back to him so clearly. He’d…had _he _said that? Who was the ‘you’?

“That’s…” Malcolm was doing everything he could to try and recall but all the effort was for nothing. He still looked just as lost, when he looked at Gil. Pleading him for some kind of answer. “Is that…how you found me?” he asked. Gil’s blood ran cold. His stomach plummeted, dropping fifty feet in two seconds. Malcolm was fighting too hard to put the pieces together to notice. “When I called you? Did you…did you trace the location, or…?” He trailed off. When Gil said nothing, he pressed: “Is that how you found me?”

“It’s…” Gil was blanking. Malcolm’s expression was making him tear up even more. “Malcolm…I…”

In his pocket, his phone started to buzz. Dani was calling him, again.

This time, he stood up fast, taking it out of his pocket. “That’s Dani again.” Malcolm’s face fell. He looked at the phone with despair that was so deep and cutting he couldn’t bring himself to look at it. “I should take this— I’ll be right back.” He whirled around and made for the hall, trying not to see how disappointed and lost Malcolm looked. Trying to ignore the guilt that was tearing him to pieces, breaking him down. Telling him what a monster he was, for leaving the kid in the dark.

He felt Malcolm’s eyes on him, the whole way out. He felt horrible.

As he kept walking, shutting the door behind him and heading down the hall, he struggled to convince himself it was the right thing to do.

That maybe Jessica was right.

Maybe it was _better_ to have the dark hide everything they were terrified to break to him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“Gil? Is something wrong?” It was the logical first assumption.

“Hey…JT. No, it’s…there’s nothing wrong.” Gil’s voice was soft and hesitant. He was standing at the window, looking outside. His other hand, shoved away in his pocket, was clenched tight. There was a long moment of silence, before he could gather up the courage to go on. “I have…to ask you something…”

“Is Malcolm okay?” The question was quick to leap out.

“Malcolm is fine.” He was just as fast to reassure him. But again, came that pause.

This time it stretched too long. JT pressed: “_Well?_ What’s up?”

“I just— wanted to ask…” He stared hard out the glass pane, agonizing. The question was on the tip of his tongue; he just had no idea how to get it _out. _He was searching an easy way to say it, but he knew there wasn’t. So after a while, he ditched the effort. He closed his eyes, blurting it out so fast he didn’t have a single second to hesitate or question it. He _knew _it wouldn’t be well-received. He might as well just get it out, since he already anticipated what would come. “I need to see some of them. The recordings.”

Silence met the declaration. Absolute, dead silence. He could hear his own heart pounding.

When he spoke eventually, his voice was dull and flat. “No.”

Gil felt frustration put him in a chokehold, despite the fact he’d already known the answer he would get. His hand clenched tighter around the phone. “JT— I— _know _it’s a sensitive subject, I just—”

“It’s not. You _can’t _watch them. It’s simple.” His tone left no room for questioning.

But Gil still tried. “I _know, _but JT, I _have _to see—”

“You _don’t,” _he interrupted. “You _don’t, _Gil. I’m _not _going to let you see any more.”

He started to grow angry. “You let _Dani—” _

“Dani’s on this _case, _with me. And she hasn’t watched one in a long time.” His voice had the tiniest bit more of an edge to it. “I don’t want anyone else to see those recordings. They’re…” He blanched before he snapped: “You just _can’t. _What’s on those tapes…are things…_nobody _should have to see— _let alone _you.”

He started to glower. “JT, you can’t just bring me on and off this case whenever it’s _convenient to you,” _he hissed. _“I _was the one who got Malcolm’s location out of Winston, _I _was the one who _found him. _Malcolm wouldn’t even _be here right now, _if it wasn’t for me— don’t _keep this from me, _I _deserve _to know some of what happened and I _need _to see what happened after—”

“‘Deserve?’’’ JT echoed. His voice was beginning to bristle and sharpen now, too. “You _‘deserve’ _to see what happened, did you seriously just say that!?” Gil faltered. His eyes widened a little. “You _deserve _to watch him be _tortured? _To watch him go through hell over and over and _over _again?_ God, _Gil! _None _of what is on these recordings should be _anything anybody _should even _remotely _want to see! Let alone _deserve!” _The word dripped with rage.

Gil’s anger was ebbing fast. He was staring hollowly ahead, but JT wasn’t through. _“I _don’t even want to see what’s on these. I don’t want to watch them at _all. _It makes me _sick. _It _keeps me up at night. _But _I _watch them, so _nobody else has to. _So nobody else _will. _Can you stop for a second and think about what _Malcolm _would want? Do you think he would want you to see what’s there? Do you think he’d want you to watch a _single second _of it?”

Gil couldn’t make his voice work. His throat was too hot to let words through. JT got the answer anyway. _“Yeah. _That’s what I thought. _No. Gil. _You _can’t _watch them. He wouldn’t _want _you to. So I’m not going to let you.” He was still struggling to make himself work again enough to say _something._

But it didn’t matter— the second JT finished this, he was hanging up.

The tiny click was like a slap in the face.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“Mom fell asleep on the couch,” Ainsley announced, sitting on the bed. Malcolm had been staring off into space, in a drug-assisted haze of half-awareness. He turned when he saw her and tried to drag himself out of it. It was easier said than done. His sister seemed to see his predicament. _“You _look like you’re almost there, too.” He grumbled something unintelligible. His eyes closed, but he shook his head. When he got them open again, she was looking at him in _that _way. The way that let him know very politely: ‘You’re an idiot and I can see right through you.’ “Mal,” she sighed. “You’re _tired. _Go to bed.”

His grumble was louder this time.

“Is this going to be a thing?” she demanded. “I mean, I know you never slept _before, _but now you _need _it. You look exhausted.”

“’ve been exhausted all _day,” _he sighed. A bit of her humor died, when she heard how empty his voice sounded. He rubbed at his eyes, grimacing from the pain it inflicted. “I slept…_fifteen hours, _last night…’nd I’m _still _tired.” It was all the drugs they had him on, he was sure. And yet, if he cut those off, the pain that was already still there would be ten times worse. He could barely stand it _now. _But the thought of going to sleep… “I c’n stay up,” he mumbled, struggling to keep his eyes from closing a second time. He looked at her. Ignoring the look she was giving him, he just asked: “Wh’re’s Gil?”

“He went out,” she said dismissively. “So that leaves _me _the only sensible one still here, to tell you you’re being ridiculous.” He scoffed, and her smirk grew. She opened her mouth to say something else, probably planning on teasing him even more. But what he said next had her screeching to a stop.

It was quiet, but it held in it far too many emotions. Fear. Pain. Sorrow. His quiet words took her heart and smashed it. “I’m too scared to sleep…” Her face fell. He was staring up at the ceiling. His expression was haunted. “I’m too scared…of what I’ll see, if I do.” He hadn’t had any dreams last night. But he wasn’t so lucky it would happen a second time. His stomach was turning into a pretzel. “I still…don’ remember…_so_ much…it might all be…_waiting _for me, as soon as I close my eyes…”

Ainsley glanced down at her hands. Her question was reluctant, and matching his volume. “What _do _you remember…?” He blinked, the vacant look in his eyes leaving as they went to her, instead. She could see on his face that he remembered _some _aspects. Maybe they were lying to him for no reason. Maybe he knew more than they _thought _he did. No sooner did the thought occur, did she remember what he’d first said to her. How relieved he’d looked once she reassured him for the fiftieth time that she was just fine. “When you first saw me…you looked surprised. You asked if I was okay.” He was quick to look away, again. She knew what that meant. “You started to ask…if _he _had…done something?” He was silent. She weakened, but pressed: “What was that about?”

His voice was curt and stiff. Only because if it _wasn’t, _he was running the risk of it breaking. In the time he took to formulate his reply, she could see his eyes become the tiniest bit shinier. “I just…remembered…” He closed his eyes. Took a deeper breath. “I…must have had dreams. Or…hallucinations. That you were there, too.” Her eyes widened. He still didn’t look at her, but his voice was getting clogged. “It…felt real. I’d…see him hurt you. Like he hurt me. He…probably threatened it. Planted the idea in my head.” He pressed his lips tightly together, before he muttered a tiny: “It doesn’t matter…”

Ainsley’s expression was much heavier, now. There was no teasing glint in her eyes. There was nothing but sorrow. Malcolm’s eyes watered more, as the silence stretched on. She knew she should let him be, for now…that she was running the risk of upsetting him, and yet she found herself repeating her questions. “What else do you remember?” The question was so hollow and empty, it could hold water.

His eyes flickered to her. Again, he took his time to reply. “I remember…bits and pieces. Fragments that…don’t really fit together…” His forehead was beginning to crease. “Right now, it’s…mostly…what I _felt. _A lot of…pain…sadness…” She wilted. Thankfully, he was getting distracted in the task of trying to explain something so complicated. He wasn’t crumbling under the weight of everything— yet. “I have…_flashes _of recollection. I see…things that don’t make sense— don’t _connect, _like…I can remember…at first, I tried to scratch the days into the wall, to try and keep track of them...before I…got too tired to do that. I can remember…one night being so cold I thought I’d freeze…

“Gil mentioned a cabin…earlier today— it made me remember what it _looked _like. And the more I think about it…th’ more I remembered when he first…dragged me in— I remember trying to…kick, and fight. And…and there’s this _one thing that’s…_when he mentioned the cabin, I remember I was…_talking _to _someone _about…_wood paneling in the walls_, or something. I…used the word ‘_you’_, I…_must _have been talking to _him, _since there’s nobody else, but…I don’t think that’s _right_, I don’t…think it _fits_, I…”

He trailed off. He finally looked at her again, and the way he did was tightening that grip around her heart. “I don’t remember much,” he answered quietly. “What I _do _remember, isn’t…” He sighed, looking lost. “I don’t know whether or not that’s a good thing,” he admitted in a whisper. “A part of me…_wants _to know…but the _other _part of me…maybe the part of me that already _does _know…is warning me I _don’t; _it’s…warning me not to sleep, because of…what I might remember when I wake up.”

Ainsley looked at him sorrowfully— at the vacant, haunted look in his eye. She glanced down at her hands, feeling horrible. Wishing that for _once, _her brother could catch a break. She knew if she were to tell him everything – unload it all at once – it would make it worse. Mom had told her not to. She said they had to wait for the right moment…but…was there _even _a right moment, with something as horrible as _this? _When would they know he was ready? When would they know _they _were ready? If you asked her, she figured they would _never_ be.

She looked at her brother for a few more moments, before something in her eyes changed. She softened, reaching out and tapping his hand. Some of the glassiness in his eyes left, when they flickered to her. “Hey…remember when we were little, and you used to give me piggy-back rides, because I never stopped asking for them?” It took a moment to track it down. When he did, the tiniest smile tugged itself onto his face. “Or…that one time Mom said I couldn’t go out with friends to a concert, and you snuck me out the window, and let me _in _the next morning, even though it was like…three o’clock?”

“Oh, yeah…” He laughed a little— hers was much louder. “It was _hard _to pull you up.”

“What about the time we both got in trouble for playing hide-and-seek at the country club and knocking over that wedding cake?”

_“You _knocked over that cake, I had nothing to do with it!” he squeaked, his voice too hoarse.

She grinned. “Yeah, but you _said _that you did. So Mom would yell at _both _of us.”

He softened, too. Shrugged his shoulder, not saying anything.

Ainsley bit down on her lower lip before she offered a quiet: “At least you remember _those _things.” His smile faded. He looked at her again and all of a sudden, all his exhaustion was rushing back. She couldn’t stomach it. She got up and went towards the door. At first, Malcolm thought she was just going to leave. But instead, she shut off the lights. The room was plunged into darkness without warning. The second it was, Malcolm’s stomach was jolting and sinking. The dark was rubbing him the wrong way; it was making his skin crawl. He couldn’t see Ainsley anymore— he could only hear footsteps, coming back towards him. And though he _knew _they _had _to be from his sister, _still _his mind began to break itself down.

_Dark— dark, dark, it’s dark so dark who’s there what if it’s him, what if it’s him, what if it’s—?_

There was a tiny click, and the room was lit up more by a soft, yellow glow. Malcolm had begun to tremble, in the small handful of seconds he’d been left in the pitch black. He blinked rapidly. Ainsley was straightening, after switching on the nightlight. Malcolm looked at it oddly. If it was any other situation, he might have thought to himself that it was ridiculous— that he _needed _a nightlight. But right now, he felt nothing but relief, that he was sure was apparent on his face.

Ainsley didn’t comment, thankfully. She walked back over to him, crossing her arms. “Alright. Time to _sleep. _You look like you’re gonna pass out.” She saw the argument he _wanted _to flash back at her. “C’mon, Mal— it’ll be good for you.” He looked away, something lodging in his throat. His sister stared at him for a couple more minutes before she seemed to decide something. She leaned down, swatting at his right shoulder— the one that wasn’t hurt. He still yelped in a mix of surprise and indignation, but she wasn’t listening. “Alright, _move over,”_ she huffed, like this was some big ordeal.

He balked at her. She raised her eyebrows. “C’mon! Scoot! You’re taking up the whole bed!”

“It’s— it’s _my _bed!” he stuttered out, baffled.

She swatted his shoulder again, puffing her cheeks out. He looked at her oddly for a couple of seconds, before he realized what she was doing. He looked down at himself before he grimaced and started to shift to the side. It was slow going, and Ainsley felt bad when she saw how much it hurt him just to move over a couple of inches. But when she spoke, she kept her voice light and snappy. Knowing, somehow, that it was what he needed more than sympathy. He was getting that from everyone _else. _She’d already given more than her fair share. Maybe a moment of normalcy would help make him feel less…alone. Confused.

“Finally!” She moved the covers, crawling underneath them. She moved one of his many pillows and stole it for her head. She threw him a mischievous smirk. “_Took_ you long enough.”

He glared at her, but it was his old glare. The glare he’d always give her when she was teasing him that made her giggle even more than she already was. “If you haven’t noticed, Ains, my_…everything _is _broken, _so.”

When he teased her back, it took a whole lot for her not to crack up, mostly out of relief. She just rolled her eyes, scoffing, “Obviously your _mouth _isn’t broken. Otherwise it’d be a _lot _quieter right now.”

He laughed. Actually, _really _laughed. She warmed, falling silent right along with him. The two lay shoulder-to-shoulder, just barely able to fit into the bed together and still have elbow room. She imagined if it were any other situation, she would hate this and feel claustrophobic. But right now, she thought it was just fine. She was content, to just be here with him. She was tired, herself. Between this and work, she was burning the candle at both ends. She yawned a little and started to close her eyes. A long time passed. She was almost asleep. When Malcolm suddenly whispered something earsplittingly loud in the dark.

“Ains…?”

She stirred. “Hmm?” He didn’t say anything. She got her eyes to crack open, and she twisted her head. Outlined in the nightlight’s glow, she could see his eyes were still wide open. That there was a strange look on his face. She frowned. “What’s wrong?” It came out in another yawn.

But her older brother just smiled. “Nothing...” His whisper was filled with so much happiness it was surprising. She started to open her mouth to ask, but he was already answering. “I just…wanted to hear your voice again…”

She blinked a couple times, her eyebrows knitting together. But her brother was closing his eyes.

It wouldn’t be long at all before he fell asleep, she knew.

After a second, she smiled. Felt her chest warm as she turned her head back front again.

That relieved affection stuck with her right up until the moment she fell asleep.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He felt horrible. He _did. _He heard JT’s voice in the back of his mind. _Malcolm wouldn’t want you to see this. _He knew that. _This is wrong— do you _really _think you’re prepared to see what’s on there? _He had to know. _What will you gain from it, though? Nothing will change because you see it. It’ll just make it worse. _Maybe. But he had to know. _Why? Why do you have to know? _He _did. _He just _did. _

He knew how to get it. He waited until Dani and JT went home for the night. He waited until the crowd thinned out. Then he got it. Dani had been right— there were _hundreds _of DVDs. _Plenty _for Kaelyn. Almost as much for Bennet. A small number for Marvin. Only a couple for Amelia. The rest…were _all _labeled Malcolm Bright. The mere _sight _of the number pained him, and almost made him back out. But he didn’t. He just steeled himself and took a deep breath.

Thankfully, they were already sorted. He grazed through them until he got to the dates he needed.

December 22nd to December 27th.

He took that, and the next couple after. Just in case.

He stuffed them in his jacket and went back to his office. He closed the door behind him and locked it. He drew the blinds. He went to his computer and fired it up, taking out the first disc. He’d brought headphones, and plugged them in. He waited with his heart in his throat. When it finally came time for the video to be played, he hesitated one final time. His eyes flashed, and his stomach dropped. Already, he could see Malcolm laying on the floor. The back of his shirt was stained with blood. Just seeing this standstill, was making his throat burn.

He heard JT’s voice again. Snapping at him to think of Malcolm.

He closed his eyes. Took in a deep breath that shook on the way down.

Before he braced himself, and quickly pressed play.

December 22nd. 11:15 am.

Malcolm was lying motionless on the ground. The room looked exactly like it had when Gil had stumbled down into it. The floor was covered with blood and other stains. The shackles were there— only one of them was currently attached to his ankle. He wasn’t even trying to get up, though. He wasn’t able to. All he could do was lay there, motionless.

Already, Gil’s eyes were filling with tears.

The camera had been shaking a little at first, but once it was mounted, the picture steadied. Winston walked out from behind it. The very _instant_ he saw him, he was flooded with _unspeakable_ rage. Hatred and anger surged through him, and it found a way to get even stronger somehow, with every step he took towards Malcolm. He gritted his teeth so hard his head ached, when he saw the emotionless man that had sat across the table from them.

He started to pace around his prostrate body, his hands clasping behind his back. “Let’s see here…what do we do _today?” _Gil glowered at the man with enough loathing to kill him on the spot. Even though he knew very plainly he was nothing but an image on the screen, still, _all _he wanted to do was punch his lights out. _Why _hadn’t he done it when he had the chance!?

“I could…pry your fingernails off…one by one,” Winston murmured. “I brought my pliers again— they seemed to work well enough for your teeth.” Malcolm was completely still on the floor. He might have passed out. It was a little matter to Winston; he continued to think aloud. “I _could _pull _more _teeth…maybe the _front ones, _this time…but that’s replaying old hits.” His eyes lit up with thought and interest. “If you’d rather keep your nails, I could break your fingers, one by one, instead. Or your nose. All it would take is a tiny squeeze of the pliers…

“Or I could break another rib. You’ve been moving better— your other one must have healed already.” He looked at him as if he was annoyed. “You screamed enough, just from breaking the _one; _when _I _was found, I had _five _broken ribs.” He tilted his head to the side and grinned more. “Maybe we should try and break _all _your ribs,” he offered, almost temptingly. “How do you think you could hold up _then? _If your entire _ribcage _was _shattered? _It’d make it pretty hard to breathe…wouldn’t it?”

Malcolm actually reacted this time. He was still face-down. He didn’t move, but he _did _speak. It was just a tiny mumble. Gil found himself leaning closer, as if that would help, but apparently Winston couldn’t make it out either. He frowned, his eyes narrowing. “What?” After a long heartbeat, Malcolm mumbled again. It was a fraction louder this time, but it was _still_ too quiet to register. Winston’s eyes narrowed even more. He stomped over and stooped down. He grabbed Malcolm and shoved him, to roll him on his back. Malcolm let out a couple of body-shaking sobs. Winston’s gaze stayed cold. _“What _did you say?” he snapped.

Malcolm took in a sharper, more pinched breath. His lips twitched again. The whisper was _still_ too quiet. Winston scowled, crouching down close to his head. Gil was hardly breathing, his eyes widening and his heart stopping when he realized what Malcolm was doing. The kid’s face was filled with agony, and he could hardly take in a full breath without it hitching or breaking in the middle. But he was _thinking. _He saw Malcolm’s hand begin to move ever so slightly, and Gil’s expression broke. He started crying harder.

Despite _all _of this, his kid was still _thinking._ He was still _trying._

Winston was losing his patience. He leaned down even closer. Behind him, Malcolm continued to reach up. _“Speak _up, Whitly. If you don’t _pick _one, then we’re just going to do _all _of them!”

“I…asked…how it felt…” Winston glowered at him. Malcolm was being very careful to not move his upper body. He didn’t see him move. And Malcolm managed to move so slow, he didn’t feel him reach into his pocket, either. “T’ only…remember your family…as the ones…who died…an’ left you behind…” Winston jerked back, at first just in confusion. But anger was _very _quick to rush back. The _rage _was instantly there to spark to life in his eyes. And when Malcolm continued, it quickly built into an inferno.

“All you’re doin’…all ‘f this…you don’ remember your family as…who they were…you only remember th’m…as victims…” he rasped.

“Don’t you _dare…_say a single _word _about them,” he snarled. Fury shook every single one of his words. “You have _no _idea what you’re talking about!”

Malcolm cringed away from the yell. But he kept going. He _had_ to. “But…you _don’t_…you just…think about…what _happened_ to them…not…who they _were…_you don’t…think about how…they wouldn’t want to see you…this way…reduced to this…” Winston was seething. Malcolm grabbed his phone and started easing it out. “They wouldn’t…w’nt you…to hurt other people…th’ way they were hurt…they’d…want you…to live the best life you could…f’r _them_…they’d want…to see you be happy…not…killing other innocent…people…”

“If you were anywhere _near _as smart as they make you out to be you’d shut up _right now.”_ Winston’s voice was a dangerous growl.

Malcolm met his gaze head-on. He’d grabbed his phone. Slowly, still, so slowly, he tucked it under his hip. His voice clenched higher with the agony it caused, but that was the only indication he gave. “Do y’think…they would be disappointed?” he forced out. “T’ see…you’ve become…no better…th’n the man that killed them? That you’re…the _same…_as their murderer?”

The very second he said the last syllable, Winston was lashing out. Before Malcolm could prepare himself, Winston’s hands were on his throat. Malcolm’s eyes flew wide, all the fog clearing from his face purely from the shock of how suddenly his oxygen was cut off. Instinctively, his hands were flying up to scrabble at his, clawing and fighting to tear them away. Winston just squeezed harder, blinded by rage. _“I’m not the same as him!” _he screamed in his face. Malcolm’s face was turning red. His struggles grew more desperate. _“I’m not the same as him, you’re wrong, you have no idea what you’re talking about!” _

Malcolm’s feet started to kick. All his pain was forgotten as he started to try and thrash and twist. The attempts were too feeble. They got him nowhere. _“You think you know everything! But you have no idea! What would you know about family— your father was a serial killer and your mother and sister don’t care enough about you to find you!” _Malcolm was begging him silently to let go, his lips shaking and his eyes tearing up. His fighting was growing weaker and weaker.

_“Your family never gave a shit about you!” _Winston screeched. _“Your own team doesn’t care enough to find you! You’ve always had nothing! You don’t know what a real family is like— you don’t know what they were like, don’t you fucking dare tell me what they would think! Don’t you dare!” _He tightened his hold on Malcolm’s throat and yanked him up just a fraction off the ground. Malcolm tried to grab onto him, but the second he was lifted, he was being thrown back down. Winston started to beat his head back against the floor. Twice, three times. _“You don’t know anything about family, and you’re going to die alone! You’re going to die alone, just like you’ve always been alone, because you weren’t strong enough to stay alive!”_

Malcolm’s eyes were rolling back into his head.

Gil was sobbing violently but silently into his hands.

Winston slammed his head down a fourth time, keeping him pinned for just a few moments more, before he shoved himself off. The instant he did, Malcolm was sucking down a harsh breath that hurt Gil just to hear. It was clear it caused him pain, too, but he kept gasping despite it, his head lolling back and forth in a haze of oxygen deprivation and agony. He coughed and choked; Winston watched with a stare cold enough to freeze him on the spot. Malcolm could only lay there and struggle to get his wind back. It stayed like that for ages: Malcolm coughing and wheezing, while Winston just glowered.

Eventually, Winston’s eyes flashed. Without another word, he stood up and stalked out of the room. It left Malcolm alone. Immediately, Gil was stiffening and leaning forward. He knew the result of this, already. That was why he’d chosen _this _day. He knew it ended in failure, but he was begging for it to work anyway, as if somehow, when he watched it, it would turn out different. Seconds dragged by, as Malcolm struggled to recover, gasping and sobbing brokenly.

It felt like forever of that— Gil screaming mentally for him to just _move. _

Finally, _finally, _he did. Malcolm let his head fall to the side, so he could see the stairs. He listened for a second, forcing himself to bite back on all his sobs, so he might hear something. Then he was dragging his head to the other side, reaching down to worm the cellphone out from underneath him. He kept sobbing. It broke Gil’s heart. He watched him lift it up, shakily. Watched as he started to dial. He dropped it once, and had to pick it back up. Gil reached up to hold to either sides of his head, digging his nails into his skull.

_Why _hadn’t he just called the _police? _He could have just _dialed _911, he could have just said: ‘Help’ and hung back up. _Why _had he called _him, _instead!?

_Because he’s scared, _something murmured to him. _He’s scared, and in pain, and _you _were the first person he thought of that could help. He wanted you to help him, like you did when he was little. He’s scared and hurt, and he wasn’t thinking. You knew the case, too. He was trying to help you solve it, still— just like you’d _asked_ him to. He thought of _you. _He trusted _you. _…And you let him down._

He did. He _had. _

Despite his gasping from before, the second Malcolm lifted the phone to his ear, he was holding his breath again. Tears were streaming down his face as he stared desperately up at the ceiling. He looked two seconds away from falling apart. Gil pictured himself on the other line, staring at the unknown number and entertaining the idea of ignoring it. _Wasting _precious seconds of hearing Malcolm’s voice.

Every second felt like an eternity, but he knew it felt even _longer_ for _him_. His lips were trembling violently and tears were streaming down his face. His shoulders were beginning to jerk. Gil watched as, cringing hard against the agony, Malcolm forced himself to be on his side, so his back was to the stairs. It looked like he wanted to curl up around the phone, but the second he tried, it got to be too much. He had to be satisfied just with this. He was still waiting for Gil to answer. He _knew _by now, that he already _had_. That he was just beginning to run out of patience, preparing to hang up. When Malcolm called out in a tiny voice.

His voice was just as painful, to hear. So fragile, and weak— not _his. _It was held together by tape and bubble gum. Unstable, and trembling. “Why’d it…hello?” All there was, was silence. Malcolm’s expression wavered and broke. His hand was shaking so violently it was a miracle he didn’t drop the phone a second time. Gil pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes as Malcolm’s breathing picked up and hitched. “Hello? _Gil?_ N—_No, _it’s— _hello?_ Why’s it no’ working— it h’s t’ work— _Gil!”_ His name broke in half. Malcolm was struggling to whisper, but after going so long without water, and especially after being strangled, his voice was scraping through his throat like sandpaper.

He continued to beg, saying all the words Gil had memorized because they’d replayed like a soundtrack in his mind. Every night, he remembered what Malcolm had cried on the other end of that phone. Hating himself for not being able to be heard, even though he had nothing to do with the connection— that the cabin had been out in the middle of nowhere and it wasn’t anything to be helped. Still, he hated himself. He hated himself for the way Malcolm started to panic and cry. Between his sobbing and the hoarseness in his voice, he could hardly be understood.

Everything was just made worse, when Gil could see him, too. He could see the panic that was making his lips shake, that was widening out his already-stricken eyes. When he could see how injured he was too— covered in blood and bruises and scrapes. Gil cringed and had to look away, when he whimpered_: “_Gil, please hurry, I— I don’ know how much longer I can take this, Gil…” Malcolm flinched into the floor, choking back on a couple heavier sobs as he forced out: “…I can’t do this much longer…”

It was already hard to stomach, but Gil knew it was only going to get worse. That it was only second away. “I’m sorry…” Malcolm’s expression was weakening into deep sorrow. He was trying his best to bottle back all his sobs, but by now he couldn’t. His tiny cries were absolutely heartbreaking. Gil was _pleading _with him to just _hang up and call the police. _But he didn’t. Gil knew he wouldn’t. “I miss you, ‘m— …’m sorry for—” He broke off. Gil wiped his eyes, listening too. He didn’t hear anything, but Malcolm was more accustomed to it than he was. He was in tune to the tiniest creaking of a floorboard, from upstairs. He lived and _died_ by the telltale noises of Winston approaching. He was realizing it immediately, even if the noise wasn’t able to be picked up by the camera.

Terror broke out over his face. Gil cringed, when he saw Malcolm’s eyes widen and his entire body stiffen. His lips trembled again, the most violent yet. He was so scared that for a second, he couldn’t move— he just stared straight ahead in undisguised horror. There was another, louder sound, that Gil heard, this time. He took in a sharp gasp, gripping the phone tight and holding it closer. “I— …_shit no, I have to go.” _Gil held his head in his hands, crying and shaking his head at the inevitable ending he knew would come.

The footsteps were getting louder. _Now, _Gil was screaming at him to just _hang up. Hang up the phone, throw it to the side, make him think he just dropped it, Malcolm, _please just hang up! But he didn’t. He didn’t _want _to. Gil was on the other end, shouting and begging for Malcolm to be able to hear him; even _if_ Malcolm didn’t know that, he was struggling to cling to the mere _notion_ of a connection. His back was still to the stairs. Gil saw a shadow being thrown down. It was still— Winston had stopped, to listen. Gil was begging him to stop and _think, _but Malcolm was past that. _“Gil— as soon as you get this— please— please find me,” _he sobbed, and Gil’s heart plunged into an icy pool of horror when he saw Winston start _running_ down the steps. Malcolm was still clinging to the phone, still sobbing when Winston reached the bottom and tore for him. _“I need your help,” _he cried. _“I need you to— NO!” _

The instant Winston was grabbing him, Malcolm was screaming, but he just screamed louder when he was dragged harshly backward. All the injuries underneath the blood coating his back dragged across the floor and immediately wrenched an inhuman screech of agony out of him. Winston dropped to the ground and planted a knee hard onto his chest. He didn’t even give him a _second _to breathe, before he reared his arm back and started to deliver punch after punch.

Blood was fast to stain Malcolm’s face and Winston’s knuckles. He thrashed, screaming from every blow, and _also _from the wounds ripping open again in his back. Gil could barely bring himself to watch as it was; when Malcolm started screaming for him, he almost broke and ripped his headphones off. But he didn’t. He forced himself to listen. Wanting to know what happened. Knowing that he deserved to feel the guilt that was wrenching his breath out of his lungs. _“Gil!” _Malcolm was struggling to reach for the phone again. Winston grabbed him by the throat and slammed him back, the instant he started to.

_“Gil!” _Malcolm was choking on all the blood gushing from his mouth. Winston punched him a couple more times, putting everything he had behind each blow, Malcolm’s screams and begs for Gil refusing to cease. Winston scowled down at him and stood. Before Malcolm had time to even _try _and get up, he kicked out. His boot caught Malcolm directly in the head.

He kicked so hard, Malcolm rolled with the force. He was knocked out cold, mid-scream. When he was thrown onto his other side, he didn’t move. It was nearly impossible to tell, with how stained the floor was, but Gil could see his head quickly begin to bleed— to pool on the ground and darken his hair. The silence was earsplitting, now that Malcolm wasn’t screaming anymore. For a second, Winston just glowered down at him, before he turned and his eyes found his phone. He rushed towards it, muttering a curse under his breath as he grabbed it and hung it up.

That rage came back to make his blood boil, as Gil watched him look around the room. As he watched him struggle to think of what to do now. He felt like screaming at the top of his lungs. At Winston, to let him know how much of a monster he was. But also at _himself, _for not _hurrying _fast enough. For not taking advantage of the panic that was bringing him to a standstill. He was wasting time, trying to think about what he should do. Why hadn’t he gone _faster?_

Eventually, he came to a conclusion. His eyes flashed, and he rushed upstairs. He was gone for a couple of minutes, leaving Malcolm alone and bleeding. When he came back, his arms were full. He dropped it all, when he crouched beside him. He grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him up. Malcolm was lifeless. He went wherever he tugged him, his head hanging low as he sat him up and started to wind the rope around his middle. Gil tasted bile as he watched Winston drop him to the ground again, not even minding the hard thud as he focused instead on tying the rope into much-too-tight of a knot.

He still wasn’t through. Winston had two more lengths, and he used it to tie his hands and ankles together. He remained unconscious the entire time, even when Winston yanked him, and wrapped the rope around him so tight he was running the risk of cutting off his circulation. Once he was tied up, Winston got out the duct tape. He started out planting it across his mouth, but once that was secure, he pulled him up off the floor again and started to wind it around and around his head. He layered it four times around itself before he found it enough. He tore the tape off and stuck it firm, letting Malcolm drop again.

From there, he yanked him up. Malcolm had already lost a considerable amount of weight; it was easy to drag him by the back collar of his shirt. Gil watched in a mix of fury and horror as he yanked Malcolm up the steps, Malcolm’s head lolling with every pull and his heels catching on each one. He knew what would happen after this. He knew Winston would come back down and get the camera. That he would get away, possibly leaving a mere five minutes before they’d closed in on him. He didn’t want to see it.

Once he couldn’t see Malcolm anymore, he skipped the rest.

December 24th. 2:07 am.

Winston was holding the camera level to the ground, aiming at his feet as he walked over concrete. It looked like he was holding a flashlight in his other hand, as he rounded his car to the trunk. Gil’s heart sank to the floor. Yet when he opened it and shined the light inside, he was still stabbed in the chest.

The instant the light was shone into his eyes, Malcolm was cringing away. His eyes screwed up against the light and a horrible, terrified whimper of pain leaked out of him. But it was muffled behind the tape that still covered the lower half of his face. It was still just barely cutting off the oxygen to his nose, stopping just below it as Winston had ensured. He was curled up awkwardly, to fit inside the trunk.

Slowly, he looked back up at Winston little by little bit, forcing himself to endure the glare of the beam. There was _nothing _but horrible desperation on his face. It took Gil’s breath away, to see. He tried to move, but it wasn’t possible. His arms and legs weren’t moving— Gil could only imagine what they felt like, after being tied and bent into one position for so long. Twisting wasn’t an option either. He was reduced to awkward twitching and writhing. He was shivering violently. He’d already begun to whimper, but now that the trunk was actually open and letting in air, he was whimpering even louder— gasping hard through his nose as he looked up at him, begging silently.

Winston’s voice curled with sick satisfaction when he asked: “Do you want _out,_ Whitly?”

The mere suggestion was breaking him. Malcolm began to sob hysterically. He nodded his head so fast Gil was surprised it didn’t give him whiplash. It sounded like he was trying to plead with him; thanks to the tape, it was just garbled mumbles, though. Winston didn’t _have _to do anything— Malcolm was falling apart all on his own. The longer Winston did nothing, the more Malcolm cried and sobbed. It was only about ten seconds before he was practically screaming against the tape. It didn’t amount of anything, volume-wise. Not with his ruined throat. But the sheer agony and hopelessness in it was palpable.

Eventually, he spoke. Unaffected. _“Well_…you should have thought of that before you did what did, shouldn’t you have?” Malcolm’s eyes went huge. He shook his head fast, struggling to get his numb body to move. The attempt was pathetic and just put him in more pain. “I finally figured out where we can go,” Winston continued, unmoved by Malcolm’s ever-increasing hysterics. “We have to drive there. Then you can wait a little bit longer, in here. Give you some time to think.”

Malcolm screamed against the tape, sobbing hard and continuing to shake his head.

Winston slammed the trunk again.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She woke up to screaming in her ear. It jolted her awake faster than a bucket of ice water would have. The second Malcolm started to scream, she was jerking up, fumbling in her half-awake daze before her eyes found him. He was screaming and sobbing. He was trying to thrash, but he had too many injuries to be able to pull off the feat. His right arm was flailing out, like he was trying to slap someone away, or defend himself. Tears were already streaming down his face.

Ainsley grabbed his right wrist in both her hands. She pulled it towards her, trying to grab his fist and pull it open. Even though he was asleep, something must have connected— when she touched him, he was screaming louder. It sounded like he was being murdered. She grimaced, but still yanked at his fingers. It was difficult to do, but once she did, she quickly held his hand, intertwining their fingers before he could close his again. She held his hand tight, and pulled it close to her chest. “Mal! Hey, Mal! Mal, wake up!” Her own helplessness as her brother screeched and wailed was making her eyes prick with stinging pain.

She held his hand even tighter. “Mal! Mal, c’mon! Wake up, it’s just a dream!”

Every second was agony, but eventually his eyes snapped open. His pupils were blown out with fear; his hyperventilating was choked and harsh in his throat. At first, he just stared. Ainsley reached out with her other hand to guide his eyes to her. When he touched him, he flinched, acting as though he was going to strike out again. But when she got him to turn, he was stopping short. At first, all there was to hear was his panicked breathing. She forced on a smile. “Hey…you’re alright, Mal…it was just a dream…”

He still reeled. He could only stare at her, openly horrified. The _longer_ he stared, though, the more it hit him what had happened. Ainsley’s heart sank, when she saw his eyes start to fill with tears again. His gasps grew heavier until they were sobs— his expression crumbled into little pieces. He held her hand back, tightly. In the same desperation he had clung to her back in the hospital. Only this time he was awake— aware. She had no idea whether or not that made it worse, or better. Already, he was sobbing so hard it was difficult to understand the words he practically gagged out. She tried her best.

_“H-He— forced m’ to— I didn’t have a choice, I— and he— I couldn’t move it hurt so— ‘nd I was sick, I— he grabbed the— he wouldn’t stop, it never _stopped!” he cried. Ainsley kept holding his hand, kept nodding. Struggling not to show how overwhelmed she was. _“He— his sister, he was gonna— he had a sister too, he— said— ‘nd I saw you, I _saw _you there you were there and he was— but I couldn’t move, I was stuck, I— getting sick, it was everywhere, it—!”_

“Mal. _Mal, hey, shhh…_calm down, Mal— I need you to calm down, okay?” He still floundered and gasped. “Take some deep breaths— breathe like I am, Mal, okay? Breath with me, real nice and slow.” She started to breathe deeper and louder, so he had something to go off of. And he _tried. _She could see how much it took for him to just take in even, regular breaths. They stuttered and chipped. He sounded like he was drowning. Maybe he _was_. “All that’s over with, Mal.” He stared at her desperately, shaking his head. She shook her head right back at him. “It _is. _Everything’s okay, now. You’re home, with me and Mom.”

_“I— he— he made me— m-my— teeth, he— how did he— how long did he—!?”_

She was biting back tears. “Mal…Mal it’s okay,” she kept trying. “It’s all okay…” She started to do that thing she’d seen her mom do which always seemed to work. She started to run her thumb back and forth across his cheek, trying her best to soothe him in any way she could. Sure enough, almost immediately, it started to work. She was almost surprised by how quickly Malcolm’s gasping faltered, and how fast his eyes were to dull over. He was relaxing— against his will, but relaxing all the same. He still struggled to hold onto her hand. “It’ll be okay, Mal, just go back to sleep…I’ve got you…”

“N-nnno…why…” He started to cry— not terrified crying, anymore. Empty hollow sobs. It was getting softer and softer but she could tell the difference between _this_ crying, and the one he’d woken up with. She was smacked across the face when he started to weep instead: “Why…? Why won’ you answer ‘ny of m’ questions…?” Her eyes widened. Her thumb stopped short. He kept crying, not even noticing. His head was falling to the side. “Why won’…you answer…anythin’ I ask…I jus’…w’nna know, why won’t you…why won’t _‘nyone…_answer m’ questions…?”

He sounded desolate. Abandoned. It stabbed her right through the heart.

She struggled to come up with something. But she couldn’t.

That was alright, though. Malcolm had already fallen back asleep. Still holding to her hand.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

December 25th. 2:18 pm.

Somewhere in between the last couple of videos, Gil had started drinking.

He was on his sixth glass, by now.

_“I’ll…be home, for Christmas.” _Malcolm breathed heavily, his eyes wide and dilated as he sat back against the wall, where he had been thrown. He’d slouched a little, but he hadn’t fallen. He stared off into space. Winston’s voice echoed off the walls of the factory as he knelt down beside him, continuing to sing pleasantly. _“You can plan on me…” _He raised the bloody knife and leveled the tip to Malcolm’s temple. He dragged it ever so slowly down the side of his face— not adding enough pressure to make a cut but enough to make Malcolm’s already-elevated breathing hitch.

_“Please have snow…and…mistletoe…” _Winston snickered a little, sliding the knife down even lower until he could hook it underneath his chin. Malcolm flattened against the wall, gasping shallowly as he pressed the knife to his throat, hovering it just above his artery. Malcolm’s lips trembling as he fought to keep his chin up high and avoid catching himself. Winston only pressed the blade more into his skin. Beginning to make the tiniest slice. _“And presents…by the tree…”_ Malcolm was biting down on sobs as he just waited. Trembling, and whimpering when he pressed more and more.

At the last second, he pulled away. Malcolm sagged, continuing to gasp. He tried to shift away from him, but there was no use and he knew it. His eyes were wrenched to his captor, when Winston began to speak. “What do you want most for Christmas, Whitly?” Malcolm didn’t answer. His eyes were huge and terrified; he didn’t answer. Winston grabbed him around the throat, pulling him closer. Malcolm winced and choked a little, but that was it. He didn’t dare move. Winston looked him over closely, before he rasped: “Do you want _mercy?” _Malcolm didn’t understand. He shook him and yanked him a little closer. “Do you want me to kill you?” he hissed. Malcolm froze. “Do you want me to end all this suffering?”

Gil’s heart jumped up to be in his throat when Malcolm just stared at him.

Winston’s eyes narrowed a little. _“Well, Whitly?” _he barked, earning a cringe. “Do you want me to kill you? ‘Cause I_ can_. I can do _whatever. I. Want with you,” _he snarled. Still, Malcolm looked too shocked to reply. Too _conflicted_. He stayed unresponsive. But Winston grew tired of waiting. He scowled and threw Malcolm back again, dropping the knife with a clatter. He stood, reached into his back pocket, and without any sort of warning at all, produced a gun. Gil and Malcolm’s eyes flew wide at the same exact time. Gil watched in horror as, once the brief shock had left him, Malcolm began to try and scuttle away from him.

He dragged him back. This time, he pressed the end of the gun up right underneath his chin. Malcolm’s eyes were wide and terrified as shock rooted him in place. For a couple heartbeats, it was silent. Until Winston broke it with his growl. “I’m gonna pull the trigger.” Malcolm went into a quick spasm of fear, struggling to push himself away, but he just wrenched him closer. Malcolm immediately went limp, understanding the message. He was hardly breathing anymore. “I’m gonna blow your brains out…splatter the wall with your blood and then dump your body just like I’ve dumped all the rest.”

Tears were already beginning to well in Malcolm’s eyes. But they just welled faster when he continued. “I know _exactly _where to leave you. So that your precious little _lieutenant _can find you.” Gil locked his jaw back, gritting his teeth so hard it hurt, especially when this elicited a sharper whimper from Malcolm. “I could leave you there _today…_give him a nice Christmas present…the gift of not having to worry about you anymore. Your family would like that just as much. That mother of yours— she won’t even bat an eye, not with how much of a disappointment you’ve become, to her. And your little sister…she’ll finally have a chance to be _seen. _Nothing will be about _you _anymore…it’ll be paradise, to her.”

Malcolm was sobbing silently, but violently.

“I’ll dump your body and make sure everyone can see how pathetic and _weak _you were. That’s all you’ll _be_ to anyone: a pathetic heap on the ground. When they think of you, _that’s _what they’ll see. They’ll know you weren’t _strong…_they’ll know you were _weak. _That you didn’t have what it _took. _And you can finally stop crying like a little _bitch.” _He tilted his head to the side. “How’s _that _for a Christmas present?” he cooed.

Malcolm kept his eyes shut. He just shook violently. Waiting.

Winston narrowed his eyes. He cocked the gun.

The tiny noise was wrenching Malcolm out of it. He jerked, tears rushing down his face as he started to panic. _“Stop, stop, don’t— don’t kill me, please don’t kill me!” _His voice was broken and in pieces. Ruined beyond repair. Gil’s own lips were trembling when he heard how terrified he was. When he knew that even now, he was _still _fighting…like he’d _known _he would. _“Please, don’t kill me, this— this isn’t what you do, it’s not— that’s not how this works, you— you don’t kill people, that’s not the point! That’s not the point! It’s—!” _

Winston let go of him. Malcolm collapsed, wide-eyed and shaking. Looking up to see he was grabbing the camera and bringing it over. He grabbed Malcolm by the shirt and slammed him against the wall, jabbing the gun back up under his chin. Malcolm started to panic all over again, but this time it was made worse when Winston shoved the camera in his face. “This is your last video, Whitly.” Malcolm sobbed, shaking his head, but Winston just shoved the camera closer. “I’ll even be _nice,_ since you’ve lasted this long…I’ll let you say _goodbye_ to them. I haven’t given anyone else that opportunity, yet.”

_“Please, please don’t kill me, don’t— don’t kill me, I—!”_

“I’m giving you _two _minutes,” he growled. “Starting _now._ Better use them right.”

Malcolm’s mind was blank with fear. It took him a couple of seconds to decide— to realize what was happening and what it meant. Something in the back of his eyes shattered into a million little pieces. His hyperventilating stuttered into more sobs. He made one last attempt and tried to grab for the gun, but Winston was fast to wrap his finger tighter around the trigger in warning. He cringed, falling still. He sat, breathing heavily for a few seconds before he turned his attention to the camera, for the final time. Tears were rushing down his face. He forced himself to take a deep breath, and speak.

“M…_Mother,” _his voice broke. He cringed and struggled to calm himself down enough to go on. But still, every word shook like a leaf. “Mother, I’m— I’m _s- _I’m _so sorry, _for— for not— letting you in, I— I…I was a _horrible son, to you, _when you were only doing your best and I know that now but it’s too late I’m so sorry…I…I wish I could do it over again. And— be closer, I’d— give anything, to—” He stared despairingly. Winston grew impatient and pressed the gun up under his chin even more. It snapped him out of it. He still cried, but panic made his words blend together.

“Ainsley— _Ains, _I’m so sorry for being such a burden to you all these years, I made you do so much and I’m sorry, you— you deserved a better brother but I couldn’t have asked for a better sister and I know you’ll be fantastic one day I _wish _I could see you I wish I could watch you but I know it’ll happen anyway!” He cringed deeply, sobbing out: “I love you both so much, I never said it _nearly_ as much as I wanted to but I do! I tried— I tried _so hard_ to get back to you, I tried, I tried but I failed I tried I’m so sorry!”

Gil felt like he was going to be sick.

And then Malcolm said _his _name.

_“Gil…!” _Gil stiffened. Malcolm cringed, his blue eyes blazing with sorrow and desolation when they locked with his, unknowingly. _“Gil, _you’ve given me _everything! _I’ve always looked up to you, I’ve always wanted to be just a _fraction_ of the person you were, and I know I was awful and I gave you all your gray hairs,” his heart shattered when Malcolm smiled just a little, through his tears, “but you’re the reason I ever became anything— you and Jackie!” Once her name passed his lips, there was no going back. He was heaving and choking on all his sobs. “You had no reason to take me in but you _did _and you’ve done so much for me and you took care of me and I loved her so much, Gil, and I love _you _so much, too!”

His eyes went huge. He sat up straighter.

“I love you, Gil, I love you _so much, _and I never said it because I was too afraid, because I didn’t think I deserved you— it’s too late now, I wish I could have told you before, but for what it’s worth now, I love you, I love you so much, you were my dad for much longer than Martin Whitly _ever_ was, you—!”

“Five seconds,” Winston hissed.

Malcolm wailed in grief and fear, both miles deep. _“Please take care of them, Gil, make sure nothing happens to them!” _he screamed.

Gil was numb. One hand reached out for the screen, as if he could touch him.

“Three…” Winston counted down.

He jerked out, struggling to add on: _“Wait— Dani!”_

“Two!”

_“Dani I think you might have been my first real friend—!”_

_“One!”_

Malcolm cut off in a bloodcurdling scream. He screeched and went rigid, already cringing from the pain and agony that was going to come. But there was no fire. There was no loud bang, no sickening crunch of the bullet going through his skull. No blood. Malcolm didn’t dare breathe or open his eyes for seven long, painful seconds. Slowly, when nothing happened, he did. He barely opened his eyes at first, still flinched away. But then Winston was removing the gun from under his chin. He was beginning to laugh.

Malcolm’s face fell. At first, he was too stunned to be anything but confused as he stared at him, slowly ducking his head now that the gun wasn’t forcing it up anymore. But when Winston continued to laugh, the realization hit him. His eyes widened and his shoulders slouched. His eyes began to well up all over again, for a much different reason. It made Winston laugh more. “You’re so pathetic!” he howled. Malcolm looked at the camera. Gil cringed, choking back his tears and another drink.

An awful smirk was twisted over Winston’s face. He lifted the gun to Malcolm’s head again, tracing the barrel up and down his face like he had, the knife. This time, Malcolm stayed blank. “You really think I would kill you?” he mused. “And you _really _think I would let you say goodbye? No…I _told _you, Whitly…_when _you die…you’re going to do it alone. You’re never gonna speak to your family or friends ever again…which you know is _exactly_ what they want.” Malcolm’s breath hitched. “But it’s alright,” Winston continued. “You’re _already _nothing to them. You called Gil, and look: we’re still here. _You’re _still alone.”

His expression broke, with this. Though he wasn’t looking at him, he started to cry harder.

Winston pressed the gun to his temple. Malcolm flinched and whimpered.

Gil hunched over the desk, feeling horrible. He couldn’t breathe; he could only sob. He had no idea where the air was coming from, to be let out in trembling crying. But he couldn’t stop. Especially when he continued. “You _called _Gil, and he _still _didn’t care enough about you to find you. Do you still _love him? _Do you still think he’s your _dad?” _Shame came to cloud Malcolm’s expression, mingling right alongside the sorrow. Winston shoved him hard. When he hit the ground, he didn’t even try to get back up. “That’s _pathetic,” _he growled. “How’s it feel? To love someone that doesn’t care whether you live or die?”

Malcolm didn’t answer. He just kept sobbing weakly into the ground.

Winston tilted his head. He forced Malcolm onto his back and crouched over him, pinning him there. He swapped the gun for the knife, again. He pressed the blade back against his throat. “Shut up,” he snapped. Malcolm still gasped and choked, crying too hard to quit at the drop of a hat. Winston shoved it against him harder— hard enough to make him go rigid and silent. Though his eyes stayed wide and tearful. “There’s no tears on Christmas, Malcolm,” he purred, his voice turning velvety smooth on a dime. Malcolm’s expression weakened and he twitched violently. But he didn’t try to fight. He stayed still, as Winston took the knife away and trailed it down his chest. “And you haven’t given me my _present_, yet…”

Malcolm cringed and his breath hitched, but he didn’t resist.

Gil’s hand curled tighter around the bottle. So tight it was a miracle it didn’t shatter.

His vision blurred and his stomach flipped, when Winston barked: “Open your mouth.”

He flinched. His lips shook and for a moment, he crumbled and cried harder.

But then it melted away. Strange apathy overcame his expression instead. Listlessly, he complied.

Gil started sobbing, taking another drink.

All the bourbon in the world couldn’t have taken away the pain from what came next.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She closed her eyes when she heard the footsteps. Her jaw locked back.

When she heard her mother’s voice, she was flaring all the more. “It’s not even four…”

Ainsley glanced over her shoulder. Her mother had apparently woken up. The first thing she would have done, would be going to check on Malcolm. She looked confused, as she stared at Ainsley— they’d both agreed that unless Malcolm specifically asked them not to, one of them would always stay with him. Seeing her now was already letting her know there was something wrong. Ainsley felt bad. But she regained her glower and turned away again. She replied stiffly: “He had a nightmare.”

Her mother walked closer. “And you _left him alone? _Ainsley, what if he has another one!? Someone has to _be there _for him, someone has to—!”

“It was memories,” she snapped. She couldn’t see her mom but she could imagine the confused look she was wearing. “He woke up…screaming about a bunch of things Winston did to him. Things…I couldn’t even make sense of. Awful…horrible things.” She paused for a long moment, biting hard on the inside of her lip. When she spoke next, it was in an angry growl. “He was remembering things that happened to him, and when I tried to calm him down, he just asked me _why _I didn’t answer any of his questions.” The silence that followed this was suffocating. Ainsley turned, already glaring. “He asked me why I wasn’t answering his questions…telling him _how long _he’s been gone. Things we _know _happened to him…he asked me why I was refusing to answer his questions…and I couldn’t say anything.”

Jessica was silent for a long while. Her expression was hollow. “He isn’t read—”

_“You _shouldn’t get to make that decision,” she hissed, her words shaking in their emotion.

Her eyes narrowed just a fraction. “If I didn’t make that decision, who would?”

_“He _would, Mom! It’s already bad _enough _that this happened to him— it makes it even worse that we’re _lying to him! _And we _are!” _she rushed on when it looked like she was going to argue. “We _are _lying to him! We should be the ones to help him through it— to help him come to terms with everything! We’re keeping him in the dark when he doesn’t _want to be, _Mom! It’s not fair! Not to him!”

She stared at her, her expression stony. It took her ages to find her voice. “He is finally awake.” Ainsley could hardly hear her. Every word was slow. “After more than a month…of nothing but _silence, _and then _terror…_my son is finally _awake. _He is _himself.” _Ainsley struggled to keep her glower, but already, it was getting difficult. “He’s talking…and smiling, and _laughing…_the thought of _anything _ruining that…is terrifying to me. If we tell him, we might break it all apart. He might not be able to handle it…he might break all over again. And I can’t have that.” Her lips shook a little. “I _can’t_ go _through_ that again.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Ainsley whispered. “How long are we going to keep it from him?”

“I don’t know,” Jessica returned, just as softly. “But can you blame me? _Honestly?”_

Ainsley looked her up and down. Her stomach twisted, and she turned back to the window, glaring again. Though her voice was weaker when she repeated: “It’s not _fair.”_

“No…” Jessica walked forward, so she could stand at her shoulder. Ainsley didn’t have to look at her, to see the sorrow that was deep in her expression. It was there to hear, in her voice. “None of it is…”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

December 31st. 11:59 pm.

_“…Three! …Two! …One! Happy New Year!” _He’d spent the countdown holding Malcolm up by his own belt, which he’d wrapped tight around his neck. Malcolm hadn’t struggled, the entire ten seconds. He hadn’t even been able to reach up and scrabble at the belt to try and get loose. He’d just hung there, his arms lifeless at his sides and his eyes closed. When the clock hit midnight and he let go, Malcolm hit the ground like dead weight. He was covered in blood. For the last two hours, he’d been enduring relentless torture. The only way Gil could tell he was still alive was by focusing enough to see the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Winston stumbled, before he threw out a foot to kick Malcolm in the side. This earned a tiny whimper. Probably because it had hit a broken rib. “Get up, Whitly!” His voice was slurred and dragging. He’d been drinking. A _lot. _Even more than Gil had been. “We h’ve a whol’ new _year _ahead ‘f us!” When Malcolm didn’t move, he kicked him again. This time, he got nothing. He stooped down and flipped him over, yanking him up by the shirt. Malcolm’s head hung back. His eyes were closed— he’d finally passed out.

Winston grumbled under his breath, throwing him back down. Malcolm’s head fell to the side. Gil was all out of tears. He just stared at him and felt a horrible aching sorrow— a sorrow which couldn’t be lifted away now, or lessened by tears. Winston kept grumbling under his breath, looking around like he wasn’t sure what to do, now. He took a couple steps before he staggered. When he tried to catch his balance, he tripped over one of the bottles he’d left on the ground. There were dozens of them, scattered on the ground. Some broken, after being smashed over Malcolm’s head.

He fell with a muttered curse. It looked like he was going to start to get up, when he changed his mind and just rolled over, instead. He let out a sigh, like he was exhausted. He stayed right there. It took Gil far too long to realize that he fell asleep like that. Ages stretched, and neither of them moved. Once it hit, Gil closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. He took a moment to just breathe, choking back on all his anger and quelling his sorrow by reminding himself over and over again that Malcolm was okay, now. Somehow, someway, he had made it. Now, he was safe at home, probably fast asleep. If he wasn’t asleep, then he was awake and someone was certain to be up with him, if that was the case.

He was okay. He was only going to heal, from here on out. That this wasn’t his reality anymore.

But it _had _been. And he had _let _him suffer in it.

He held his head in his hands and sat there, struggling to digest what all he had watched. _Hours _of footage— of watching Malcolm suffer because he hadn’t been there, for him. He knew it was bad…that JT had kept this from them for a reason. But he didn’t _really _know just _how bad _it was. He could have been given a million years and he would have been unable to come up with the scenarios, simply because he didn’t have the stomach for it. He felt nauseated both with sorrow and with fury. He felt like screaming, and like getting sick, at the same time. He was all out of tears, but all he wanted to do was cry, and cry _hard. _But he couldn’t. And he knew it wouldn’t do much as it was, anyway.

This feeling would stick. Even _more_ so now with the knowledge of what had actually happened.

Which was probably _exactly_ why JT had told him no.

He sat numbly for a long time as the video continued to play, trying to come to terms with it all. It was almost midnight. He was exhausted. He was just beginning to decide he should probably shut this all down, especially before he got caught, when a tiny noise dragged his head up. He stiffened, when he heard a thin whimper. It was barely there. His eyes drilled for Malcolm; sure enough, he was starting to move.

He was covered in blood and injuries and gore…but he was beginning to wake. Slowly, painfully, he was pushing himself up. His arms were shaking with the effort. He could only get his upper body a fraction off the ground. He couldn’t even get his head all the way up. He was swaying, barely able to stay upright. And yet, once he got halfway off the ground and caught his breath, he began to try and move. Gil’s heart froze as he saw him start to crawl. It hit him, then. Usually, Winston shackled him in place when he left. He’d gone to all the trouble to add the anchorings, in the factory, to ensure he wouldn’t be able to run away.

This time, he’d passed out before he could.

Gil’s eyes were huge as he watched Malcolm begin to drag himself across the floor by his arms. He couldn’t get up— he couldn’t even move both his legs to help push himself along. He could only go in fractions of inches, every pull wrenching yet another pain-filled noise out from behind clenched teeth. He was trying to bite down on them, but the agony must have been too overwhelming. He cried and yelped, but Winston was fast asleep. He continued to struggle on, doing everything he could to keep himself moving.

Gil wasn’t breathing, as he watched him crawl along the bloody floor. He knew Malcolm had five more months in him, so obviously this was going to even in failure just like all the other attempts he must have made. And yet he found himself still feeling a small glimmer of hope. Malcolm was moving slower and slower, but he was still refusing to give up. His head was swaying— he was fighting back sobs. But when he neared Winston, he did everything he could to keep as quiet as possible.

It took him nearly five minutes just to get five feet away from where he’d started. He sucked in a sharp breath, flinching hard as he dug his fingers into the ground and dragged himself _another _foot, whimpering in the back of his throat. He started to reach out with his other hand to do the same thing all over again, when a noise got him to stop. He froze, when he heard the tiny cough— so did Gil. Malcolm went limp, dropping to the floor, his eyes wide with panic and fear. He fell still, as though he could play off still being unconscious. But Winston wasn’t waking up.

But he _was _coughing more. The third cough, and something was changing on Malcolm’s face. Though pain stayed alive in his features, his expression faltered with confusion. Too weak for the moment to get back up again, he managed to twist his head, and look over at him. His eyes widened even more.

Winston wasn’t just coughing— he was _choking._

He was laying flat on his back…understanding dawned over Gil as soon as it did Malcolm. He had no idea how much he’d drank, but it was no hard leap to know it was too much. Now, it looked like he was starting to throw up. But with no way to turn on his side, he was choking, instead of getting it out. If it kept going this way, he was going to asphyxiate. The dots connected slower for Malcolm, still reeling from his beating. But Gil could see it come over his face: the understanding of what was happening, and why. For a heartbeat he just laid there staring, watching as Winston’s coughing began to get more violent.

Slowly, he looked over his shoulder— off-camera, where the stairs of the factory inevitably would be. Winston’s choking got louder, and Malcolm looked back. His face was beginning to fall. Already, Gil was screaming mentally, knowing where this was going. _Don’t! No, no, what are you doing!? What are you doing!? You’re going to double your time if you do this— you’re going to have to go through five more months! _Malcolm looked over his shoulder again, but he was weakening fast.

He agonized. Winston was starting to convulse.

_Stop! Stop! _Tears were streaming down Gil’s face, again. Apparently he’d come up with more. _Stop, don’t do this, don’t! _

Malcolm cringed and ducked his head briefly, before he forced it back up and called out. His voice was minuscule— breaking, in the dark. “H-…Hey…” He tried to raise his voice; it cracked, against his throat. “Hey…” He didn’t even know his _name_, to call it out. Gil was sobbing again, shaking his head, when Malcolm began the painstaking effort of crawling _over_ to him, instead of around him. It was even harder, now; he was weak, and he had so little energy. Now he was _wasting it _on _this. _By the time he reached him, he was trembling from head to toe, his breathing in ragged, uneven pants.

Struggling to hold himself up with one arm, he reached out with the other, pushing weakly at his shoulder. He wasn’t anywhere near strong enough to push him onto his side like that. His voice was clenched with pain and desperation. _“Hey!”_ His voice was just a sob, at this point. Winston didn’t rouse. “Hey, wake up— _wake up!” _Malcolm cringed, sucking in a harsh breath and grabbing onto him with his _other _hand, too, using all his weight to shove him over. He put so much energy into the push that he fell too, right along with Winston.

The second he was rolled, Winston was able to get sick. He _still _didn’t wake up, even when he did. But he stopped thrashing, and when he was through throwing up, his breathing was deep and fast, to catch up with the oxygen he’d gone without. Malcolm stayed laying on the ground beside him, hyperventilating through the agony that was surely swamping him. Gil waited for him to get up and keep crawling. But he knew he couldn’t. That had taken too much out of him. Malcolm’s arms were trembling too much to support him this time. And the second he got so much as a millimeter off the ground, he was swaying and faltering.

He fell back down with a horrible cry. He gasped raggedly, his panic mounting yet fading at the same time— he was losing consciousness, Gil could tell. He watched as Malcolm forced one arm to reach out, fumbling desperately with Winston’s pockets to feel for something. For a _phone. _Resorting to this means of trying to get out since he had nothing left in him anymore. But he truly _did _have nothing.

Before he could manage to get his hand inside _one _of his pockets, his pained cries and whimpers were choking off. His eyes closed, and his entire body went lax. His arm fell to the floor.. Gil didn’t know whether to cry or scream. To be angry with Malcolm, or feel sorry for him. He wasn’t sure about any of it. So he just sat and stared, an empty kind of horror in his eyes as he looked at Malcolm’s unmoving form. Thinking about the fact he had just bought himself five more months of this hell. Willingly. For his _captor._

It all started to pile up on him. Everything he’d seen. Everything he hadn’t known.

He finally lost the battle on keeping his stomach at bay.

Gil hunched over, grabbing the trashcan underneath his desk and getting violently ill.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He was staring off into space, his expression dull and apathetic. All morning, he’d been like this. He’d woken up from nightmares three more times— the last one starting him awake at 7:30. From there, he’d just given up. He looked exhausted still, and yet he was refusing to try falling asleep again. He was refusing to _speak_, too. Even when Allison had come, he didn’t speak at all. She’d tried to press him, but none of her attempts had landed. Eventually, Jessica had just murmured guiltily that he probably wasn’t going to budge. That she should just go ahead and do whatever it was she needed to get done.

When she’d left, they’d tried their hand at getting him to talk. But it was hauntingly similar to the times they’d spent at his bedside in the hospital, when he was asleep— it was just them talking _at _him, pausing and waiting for him to say something in response, yet knowing that they’d most likely be disappointed. And they were. At one point, Jessica had reached out to put her hand on top of his. She’d tried to murmur: “Darling…if you want to talk, we’re right here, for you. We can…” She’d trailed off, when his eyes flickered to her. He’d stared at her for a couple seconds. She’d started to hope, but the instant she did, he’d just taken his hand back. Slipped it out from under hers and looked away again.

Around noon, she had stepped away to call Gabrielle. She’d regretfully said that she couldn’t be in to see him until tomorrow. A family emergency had come up. Which…selfishly, Jessica had thought was ironic; she had been _this close _to asking: ‘Is it more of an emergency than _this?’ _At the last second, she’d managed to bite it back, reminding herself what all she’d already done for them. They could wait for tomorrow. They could be with him until then if nothing else, and make sure he was safe in the meantime.

She was just about to go back into the room, when she stopped short. She blinked a couple times, looking back down at her phone. She glanced back into the room, frowning with unease and hesitation. She debated for a long moment, but caved, unsure what else she could try. This was her last resort— she dialed and raised the device back to her ear. Her lips were pressed tightly together as she listened to it ring. The other line was hardly picked up, before she was speaking, her words curt and drawn. “Where are you? I haven’t seen you all morning.” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I have a favor to ask of you,” she just said.

Gil sounded tired, but his response was immediate. “What do you need?”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The longer Malcolm was awake, the more skittish he grew. Jessica and Ainsley both watched as he seemed to grow tenser and tenser. He would stare hard at the entryway, and then get distracted— he would either look down at his hand, or his cast, or off to the side, at absolutely nothing. But he was always fast to snap right back around again, his eyes a little wide when they ripped back to the door as if he’d heard a noise they were deaf to. His jolt was always small but it spoke volumes— his heart would pound and he would stiffen just a little. It would always take a couple of moments for him to calm down again.

Then the cycle would start back over.

Eventually, Jessica couldn’t bear to just sit there. Instead, she stood up, busying herself by tidying up the room. It hadn’t really gotten the chance to _get _messy in the first place, but the detail was trivial. She ended up reorganizing Malcolm’s medications. He had so many, they had to arrange them in a box, lining them up in neat rows. There were pain medications of every variety, there were antipsychotics, antidepressants, benzodiazepines, anxiolytics— anything you could possibly think of, it was there. She was taking her time to arrange them. Ainsley remained at his bedside. She felt her daughter’s glare track her every movement. She could _feel _her anger in the air. She was just doing her best to ignore it.

Eventually, other sounds broke the silence. Footsteps, and the smallest murmuring of voices. Malcolm was the first to notice— when he heard people approaching he stiffened. His eyes had fallen to rest on his blankets, but when he heard this change, they jerked back up. Fear flooded his expression in less than two seconds, especially when the voices got louder. Ainsley’s own eyes began to widen; she reached out and tried to put her hands on his shoulder, so she might be able to talk him down.

She faltered when her mother turned. She didn’t look surprised at all— in fact, she looked relieved. Ainsley’s face fell; she opened her mouth to ask what was happening, when Jessica turned her beam down to Malcolm. “I asked if they’d like to come and see you,” she explained, her voice bright. Malcolm blinked rapidly, staring at her in blank confusion. She nodded towards the door. “The team has been dying to see you since you woke up— they’ve been practically beating the door down!” Understanding was draining back into him. But instead of following Jessica’s lead, he was following Ainsley’s, more. His face was falling, and his eyes were widening. “I thought this would be a good time for them to come!”

His face paled. Behind him, Ainsley was scowling at her. _“Seriously, Mom?” _she hissed. Malcolm didn’t even react to her snap. _“Without asking him first!?”_

Jessica looked bemused. She opened her mouth, but she didn’t have time to say anything, before they were suddenly arriving. The second they were, Malcolm’s head was snapping back around to them. His eyes found a way to get even _wider. _The group was clustered tightly together in the doorway— Dani and Edrisa were at the front, both smiling. There was the tiniest hint of nerves on their faces, but their smiles were warm, despite it. Edrisa was standing a little bit in front of Dani— apparently, she’d been the most excited to get into the study. She was shifting her weight from foot to foot, too excited to stand still.

The second her and Malcolm’s eyes met, a beam was splitting her face. She looked over the moon. Shock at their arrival had his reaction a little slower. She didn’t let that fact ruin her happiness. _“Bright!”_ The name was bringing him out of it a little faster. Ainsley and Jessica waited, their hearts in their throats. But eventually, a tiny smile cracked its way onto his face. They practically _reeled_, with relief. Edrisa took it as her green light. She rushed into the room— thankfully, he had his wits about him enough not to jump. But his smile _did _falter just a little when she closed their proximity so quickly. “You’re awake— you’re _actually _awake!” When he didn’t answer her, she eyed him a little closer. “You…_are _awake, _right?”_

His mother and sister were still on-edge, trying to make sure that his reaction would be good. He needed a couple of buffering seconds. But then, he slowly looked down at himself, as if to check. His voice was still soft and tired, but it was teasing, too, when he murmured: “Last time I checked, yeah.” It was the first thing he’d said all day. And he sounded _happy._

When he gave this smart reply, such strong relief and happiness hit Dani it was a miracle she didn’t stagger. His voice was clear— his eyes were focused, not wild. Everything else about him had stayed the same – the casts, the gauze wrappings, the scars – but _he _was back to normal. She could see_ him _again. She was already smiling from ear to ear. “That’s great! That’s fantastic!” Edrisa bubbled over. “Gil told us how you were getting along— you look so much _better! _It’s so _good _to see you! I missed you! Or—” She made a face, rushing to double back and correct herself. “No, that’s— I mean, we _all _missed you. All of us. Together. Not just me. But I was worried. Also. For you. _About _you. It’s—” She flushed, and ended with a mutter of: “It’s just good to see you.”

His eyes were soft— _relieved._ “It’s…” He broke off, his voice choking. He took in a deeper breath, but his words were still clogged. “It’s really good to…see you, too.” He looked at all of them— at Dani and Edrisa, and at Gil and JT. Nobody said anything, for a heartbeat; in that silence, they saw how his eyes were filling with tears. _Happy _tears, that was making his smile watery and unstable. “It’s…it’s good to see _all _of you…” he managed. Going by the way he was looking at them, it was clear he didn’t remember them visiting before, when JT had helped get him to eat. They decided not to ask.

He was trying to hold his tears back, but they were building too fast. Dani felt a small jolt when she realized, staring at him, that her _own_ eyes were beginning to sting. She shook herself out of it and cleared her throat. He looked at her when she coughed, but thankfully by then, she was regaining her composure. Her smile was steady. Despite the fact she’d tried to reel herself in, though, she was very well aware of how obvious the relief was in her voice, when she said: “Hey, Bright.”

_God, _was she still so glad she could say those words.

He lit up, at the simple greeting— at his _name_. He radiated happiness like he was a little sun. Both Ainsley and Jessica were watching him with palpable relief. “…Hi. Dani,” he murmured. He was barely able to be heard, but that was alright. She softened. For a heartbeat, they held one another gaze— Malcolm’s mouth hung open just a little, like he was reaching for something to say. Like there was something he was wanting to push out. Eventually, his eyes flashed, and he seemed to take whatever it was and push it aside.

He was regaining his grin when he continued, just as quiet. “I’m afraid…your celebrating has to come to an end…I’m back. So you’ll have to hide your streamers…’nd your party hats.” Edrisa was immediately giggling— Dani smiled, but she was quick to offset it by rolling her eyes. She could still see how much happier he was growing. His eyes went to a point beyond them. Dani looked over her shoulder, realizing that JT and Gil hadn’t followed her and Edrisa’s lead— they were still lingering close to the door. She frowned at them, but her frown only worsened when she saw them.

JT’s lips were pressed tightly together— there was something guarded in his expression, for some reason. He didn’t look _too _out of the ordinary, but he _did _look a little stiffer than normal, for some reason. Angry. Again, not too uncommon. _Gil _was what was _really _making her stop. He wasn’t even blinking, as he stared at Malcolm. He was smiling, but it was _very _forced. His eyes gleamed with water. He looked two seconds from falling apart. At first, Malcolm hadn’t noticed; he just looked at JT. His smile tugged a little bit more when he pressed, _“You _most ‘f all…” JT’s eyes flashed. “I know I just _ruined _your weekend plans…”

JT lifted the side of his mouth into a smile. “Hm…there goes my deposit on the yacht.”

Malcolm laughed softly. “I’ll pay you back.”

JT scoffed out his own. There was something unusually soft in his eyes, when he did.

Jessica was beginning to turn, when she caught sight of Gil, and the way he was looking at her son. The tears were rushing down his face, by now. Her eyebrows knitted hard with confusion and slight reproach. In her surprise, she stumbled. The box containing all the medication fell right out of her arms. All the prescription bottles scattered on the floor. Everyone’s eyes went wide. Edrisa and Dani were fast to drop to the floor and help her clean up. Malcolm looked embarrassed and guilty; he opened his mouth, but just then, his eyes were finally catching on Gil’s. He did a double-take, turning and looking at him with alarm when he saw how much he was crying.

He looked confused. Worried. “Gil?” The man tensed and swallowed hard. He tried to keep his smile, but it was even _weaker _than before. Malcolm searched his face. JT shot a sharp look at the older man, elbowing him hard in the side. Gil cringed. It just made him even more confused. “Gil, what’s wrong?” From the floor, Jessica shot Gil a glare. But he wasn’t looking at her; his eyes were just for Malcolm, and slowly, he started towards him. By the time he stopped beside him, he was sniffing. “Gil what’s wrong?” Malcolm murmured.

It was just making him cry more. He sniffed again, his smile pained. “Nothing…” he choked out eventually. Malcolm eyed him skeptically; his eyes flickered to JT again. His confusion was growing. “Nothing…you’re…” His voice died. He wiped his eyes and took in a deep breath, reaching down to put his hand gently on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze. “…You okay, kid?” The three words barely made it out. They were just sorrowful squeaks.

“I’m…I’m _fine_…” His forehead creased. “Are…are _you _okay?”

“Yeah…yeah, I’m— I’m fine, kid,” he rasped. “I’m fine…”

Malcolm’s bemused gaze differed between him and JT. “You’re…why are you both…looking so weird, you’re—?” His eyes stuck on JT. He was glaring daggers at Gil— he looked ten seconds away from exploding. He frowned again. He remembered that tug he’d had before— when Gil had mentioned JT and he’d stopped a little. He remembered it because he felt it again, now; like there was something wrong— something _about _JT that he’d forgotten. The way he was staring at him now, was only making it worse.

JT never really _liked_ him. Not especially, he didn’t think. They didn’t have anything past an acquaintanceship. He wasn’t expecting waterworks, or a flip, but he _really _wasn’t expecting the look he was wearing now. It looked like he smelled something that nobody else could— his expression was tight and pinched like he was trying to hold himself together and it was taking a lot. By now, Jessica, Dani, and Edrisa were standing again. It looked as though Jessica was about to intervene, throwing the others sharp glares to try and get them to snap out of whatever it was that was having them act this way. She’d asked them to come as a _distraction. _This wasn’t helping, and she was ready to put a stop to it.

Before she could, though, Malcolm was trying to smile, and make another joke. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “JT, you look—”

He stopped dead, mid-sentence. The _second_ his name passed his lips, he was jerking.

His eyes widened. His stomach fell. That tugging in his gut grew so sharp he couldn’t breathe.

_I hope they’re giving you a raise, JT; this job must _suck.

_Thanks for talking to me, JT…_

The red dot— the red dot— the thing just off to the side that he didn’t know what it was from—

_Alright, look at the camera._

_Did you film them all, too? …Film their murders?_

_I didn’t get it on camera— you have to repeat it._

_Keep your eyes on the camera. The whole time. You’re not allowed to look away._

The camera— the camera, the _recordings, it was all recorded, every single thing, the red dot was from the _camera_ it was—_

He looked at their faces. At JT’s expression, only growing more strained. At the tears streaming down Gil’s cheeks. The way he looked at him like he was bleeding out. Like he was dying right in front of him.

His eyes widened. His stomach fell. Suddenly, the room was spinning. Getting faster and faster.

At the panic on his face, Jessica was leaping into her own. “Malcolm?” She rushed to him, putting her hand on top of his. He was immediately wrenching his hand away from her, though, as if her touch burned. He was beginning to hyperventilate, shaking his head slowly though he knew there was no use in denying it. His eyes were beginning to burn. “Malcolm!? Sweetheart, what’s wrong!?”

“You…the…th’ cam…ra…” His tongue felt fuzzy. Too heavy.

Gil’s expression was immediately crumbling. He started to try and stutter: “Malcolm, it’s okay, we won’t— it’s not— _nothing_ that we saw—”

JT rounded on him, his eyes blazing. “Gil, _shut up!” _he practically screamed.

“What!?” Jessica demanded, looking between them, furious and confused.

“You— I— saw— what did— what did you— see, I— what did—?” His hands were shaking. His lips were slowly numbing.

Gil tried to reach out for him. It just made him cringe away. “Malcolm, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t— I wasn’t supposed to, but I just—”

JT grabbed his shoulder, wrenching him away from Malcolm— spinning him around so he could advance on him, radiating fury. _“This is why I said no!” _he yelled. Malcolm was trembling, staring emptily down at the bed. JT’s yelling was just making it worse. _“This is why I told you not to touch anything— why did you think it was okay to—!?” _

_“Stop it!” _Ainsley shouted, flaring as she put her arms around her brother’s shoulders, terrified at how he was beginning to slouch and sway. _“Stop it, _you’re making it worse! _Get out_ if you’re gonna—!”

“What is he _talking about, _Gil!? What did you do!?” Jessica demanded.

Dani looked at the mess, eyes wide and disarmed. Before they landed on Malcolm and flashed. She rushed to his bedside, kneeling down so she could catch his eyes, where they were trained sightlessly down at the blankets. She got in his line of vision, knowing that he _still _wasn’t seeing her, when she did. But she tried to talk to him anyway. Her voice was low and calm. “Bright. _Bright, hey, _calm down, you need to calm down, Bright, it’s _okay.” _He shook his head in tiny, fractional movements, more of jerks than anything else. His breathing was fast, and haywire. _“Bright,” _she pressed. _“Bright, _it’s _okay, _look at me, Bright— _look at me.”_

“What’d— what’d— they see, what’d they— see— they— they saw— they saw—” With every passing second, something new seemed to occur to him. Some other possible recording of something unimaginable that they could have seen. The horror on his face had grown to such magnitude that now it was fading altogether. His shoulders were drooping, his mouth was going slack. He still struggled to speak, but he could only get a couple more words out. “G— Gil— ‘nd— JJJJJ— wha’d’they— what’d—?” Everything else was turning to radio static. His mother’s yelling— Gil and JT’s argument, Dani’s voice. Pretty soon he couldn’t even feel his sister’s arms bracing him and holding him up.

But he _saw _it. Flashes.

Willingly getting on his knees. Holding eye contact with the camera as he opened Winston’s pants.

Being pressed up against the wall, teeth on his neck, fingers shoved into his mouth so far back he was gagging, staring tearfully at the camera set up across the room, staring him down.

The camera less than an inch from his face as he was forced to say embarrassing, vile things.

Being reduced to a sobbing, sniveling, pathetic mess. Begging for death.

They went by in a flash, but he knew every single one of them. He knew that there were _more._

All horrible.

All things they might have _seen._

And with that last thought hitting him like a kick straight to the stomach, it got to be too much.

He went numb. His eyes closed and he dropped, Ainsley yelling out as he went limp in her arms.

Her cry was the last thing he heard, before everything went to black.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all like this chapter!!! This chapter will be my last chapter of winter break, as I start classes very early tomorrow morning! I will try my best to make time to write along with my studies but I certainly will not be able to update as quickly as I have been, I fear. I hope that you all will be understanding, which I think you guys will be!! Know I'm doing my best because I love you all and I love this story. I already have seven pages of chapter nine done, and I have a reluctant goal of typing at least two pages a day with school. I'll work hard to accomplish that whenever I can.  
I hope you like this chapter!!! And I hope I get to hear from more of you, this time around!! I'll need all the sweet comments I can get, to get me through school and keep my spirits up, haha!!
> 
> Also: The flashbacks in this chapter are especially dark. Please keep in mind the tags. There are references to sexual abuse in them, and one of the flashbacks do address Malcolm's suicide attempt. Please understand I don't put these parts in lightly and only focus on what I need to for the shortest amount of time. So I hope it isn't too big an issue. But if you would like to talk, you can absolutely message me ♡  
I hope you're all excited for next chapter!!! It'll be (another) turning point of the story!! ^^

Malcolm’s breathing was shallow and fast. At first, that was the only thing that existed— his hyperventilating. The room was dark. He tried to get up…he _wanted _to get up, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even so much as twitch his _legs_. He was in so much agony, he was numb; he felt absolutely nothing but at the same time, he shook and trembled from the pain that was blinding him. But the panic was there, to twist his stomach into knots. To make his vision shake and warp. To squeeze around his throat and make breathing much harder than it was supposed to be.

It was already severe, yet when _he _walked into his line of vision, his panic flared even hotter. When the man crouched down, Malcolm’s fast breathing hitched— his entire body went into a harsh spasm, trying desperately to get itself up, or do _anything _at all. But no; it didn’t work. All he could do was writhe pathetically, which made him laugh. The man reached down and grabbed his wrist. The second he did, everything flashed. When things settled again, his arm was being held out, the man crouching hard on his wrist to keep it in place. He tried to yank it back to him, but the effort was still too feeble.

The man sneered. Malcolm gasped in pure fear when he saw him beginning to line up the tip of a knife. “Do you even _want _to be found anymore, Whitly…?” his captor hissed, tracing along the lines of his palm with the blade. Malcolm was crying, fighting and failing to get away. His captor was loving every second of it. “Even if you _could _be saved…would you even _want _to be?” He started to press down, just slightly. Malcolm tensed, letting out a weak scream. He bent lower to his ear, so he could still be heard. “Do you _want _them to see you like this? Pathetic…weak…?”

Everything flashed again. When it did, Malcolm was screeching at the top of his lungs, the knife blade stabbed halfway into his hand. His captor paused for a moment, letting him boil in that pain for a couple of moments before he smirked and continued to speak. “It’ll never be the same…whenever they _look _at you, all they’ll do is _pity _you.” Slowly, he twisted the knife. Malcolm screamed, sobbing over the horrible cracking and popping sounds that resulted. He stooped down, grabbing his neck and squeezing tight. Malcolm’s screaming choked off into nothing. Everything flashed again.

When it came back, the man was wiping the blood-soaked blade along Malcolm’s cheeks hard, nicking his skin in the process as he smeared the gore all over his face. Malcolm was hyperventilating through the pain as well as he could, with the pressure still around his trachea. Another flash and he was stabbing his hand _again, _purely to smear more blood on his face— down his other cheek, across his forehead. Doing whatever he wanted, just because he _could. _That much was clear in the satisfaction in his voice when he leaned down and snarled in his face. “You’re _nothing…_and they’ll always _see you as nothing…”_

Another flash and the knife was gone. The camera was shoved in his face, though; the screen that was pulled out to the side was flipped around. This way, he could see himself. His face was covered in blood— the red was lighter in color where his tears were streaming. He tried to shut his eyes, but the pressure around his throat got even worse, so he snapped them open again. His captor shoved the camera even closer. “If they find you…they’ll just see how pathetic you are. How _disgusting. _So I’ll ask you again…do you _really _want them to find you?”

He cringed. Cried harder.

_“Well, _Whitly?” he snapped. “If they find you, they’ll be _falling over themselves _to watch these videos. Which ones do you want them to see, first? ‘Cause I know some _good ones…” _He yanked him closer. Malcolm’s yelp was tiny and fragile. “Some of my _favorites. _Like the one you got me off five times in a row?” Malcolm cringed, recoiling away from the reminder. He was shaken hard, to get his eyes to open again. “Do you want them to watch all the times you _begged _for me to rape you, just so you could get something to eat? All the times you cried like a _bitch? _All the times you _pissed_ yourself? Which one of those do you want them to see? Which one of those do you want them to _think about, every single time _they _look _at you?”

He was crying so hard, his body was wracked with every sob.

He let him cry. Until he lost interest and snapped: _“Answer _me, Whitly! _Which one do you want them to think about every time they looked at you?”_

He kept sobbing. When the man tightened his hold around his throat, he snapped back into attention enough to get his mouth to work. _“None!”_ he cried. The man smirked, getting the answer he wanted. Malcolm kept sobbing, breaking down more and more when he was actually forced to say it out loud. _“None of them, I don’t want them to see any of them!” _he wailed, voice hollow with pain and despair.

Satisfaction flooded his tormentor’s face. He leaned down until he was nose-to-nose with him. His voice was just a low growl. “So I’ll ask you again, Whitly…do you even _want _them to find you?”

. . . . . . . . . .

Malcolm woke up slowly. The world came back in fractional amounts— leaking, like water out of a faucet. At first, everything was muted. He could hear talking, but all the voices were too distant and far away for him to understand. It sounded like he was underwater, far below whoever was talking. It _felt _like he was underwater, too— like he was floating, not quite completely still. His eyes could only open just a fraction; for a brief moment, the world appeared to him as blurred and hazy shapes. Then his eyes were sliding shut again.

This feeling wasn’t foreign. He was used to it. He was an expert at coming out of fogs like this, by this point. Every time he opened his eyes, they stayed open for a little bit longer. He let the world trickle back to him— watched as the colors and shapes began to settle and listened to the voices becoming clearer. “…stress,” someone was saying. He didn’t…really recognize their voice. Not right away. And the moment the realization dawned, he was waking up faster, fear beginning to burn away the fog still clinging to him. “He’s so weak, physically, but mentally as well. And that _mental _strain can turn into physical— like this.”

The voice— he didn’t recognize the voice. Who _was _it!?

His head moved slowly, turning from one side to the other. He let out a tiny groan. The instant he did, it was changing. There was a sudden rush of footsteps up to him. He tensed, his head falling towards the sound and his eyes prying open. They managed to widen this time, with the sound of the advancement. He inhaled sharply through his nose, pressing against the pillow like he wanted to scurry away.

With every rapid blink of his, his vision cleared a little more. His head dragged still, but he recognized who had flown to his side. Once their eyes met, his mother’s were melting with relief. “Malcolm…” Her voice was fervent— nearly breathless. His breathing stuttered in his throat. He didn’t relax— he stayed tense. She let out a slow, shivering breath, reaching out. He cringed when her hand went to his cheek, and her other went to hold tightly to his own. “Sweetheart…you’re okay…”

He blinked a couple more times, inhaling sharply again. His head was almost all the way cleared, by now. When he looked at her again, he started to relax, bit by slow bit. Her smile grew; she stroked her thumb back and forth across his skin. “Are you alright? Does your head hurt? Do you want a drink of water?” Ainsley was standing behind their mother, her eyes holding nothing but anxiety. He said nothing, his eyes continuing to drag to the side. Dani and Edrisa were standing together, wearing twin looks of apprehension. His mind was still trying to kick into gear, lagging behind his other senses, as he tried to remember what happened. Why he felt so nauseated.

Allison was standing nearer to Edrisa. That must have been the voice he didn’t recognize. He thought she’d left…why was she back? Did Mother call her again? Why? He was foggy…he was foggy, from…losing consciousness— he’d lost consciousness. Why had he done that? What had…what had…?

Jessica tensed as he started to turn his head. She found herself trying to stop him— holding his face with just the tiniest bit more pressure. “Darling.” His forehead creased, when he noticed the pressure— when he felt her hold his hand a little tighter, too. His eyes flickered back to her; she could see the tiniest bit of fear spark in them. Immediately, guilt gripped her heart to see the distress she was causing him. Still, she tried to keep him with her. “Sweetheart…_listen_— you…got _upset, _you—” Again, he started to turn his head. Desperation spiked her words. “_Darling_, just— _wait, _I want to make sure you’re—”

She was still holding his head. Despite this, he managed to drag his eyes to the side enough to see the last two people still in the room.

The second he did, his stomach was dropping. Jessica held even tighter to him and rushed to keep talking, but this time Malcolm wasn’t even registering her voice. He was just staring with undisguised horror at Gil and JT, both standing nearer to the foot of his bed. To say JT looked furious was an _overwhelming_ understatement. He looked fit to kill as he stared hard at Gil, not yet realizing that Malcolm was looking at them. He was fast to realize it _now, _though, with Gil’s reaction.

Despite the fact JT had been glaring at him with enough anger to set him on fire, Gil wasn’t looking at him at all. He was staring at Malcolm. His eyes were irritated and bright red; his face was covered in tears, that were only coming faster, now that Malcolm was looking at him. The older man’s expression crumbled. He looked two seconds away from breaking down and sobbing, right then and there. JT did a double-take when he saw him grow even more distressed. He turned, stiffening when he saw that Malcolm was staring at them again. It was only for a brief second, but that second was all Malcolm needed. The first glance, and the way his anger melted away immediately into deep sorrow and remorse— things that were _never _on JT’s face. _Never. _

His breathing started to pick up.

Jessica tried to guide his face back to hers, but he wasn’t budging this time. Still, she tried. “Malcolm— darling, look at me, Malcolm, _look at me. _You have to calm down, sweetheart!”

JT lifted his hands as if in surrender. “…Bright.” His voice was level, and steady. But it was _soft. _The detail was small, and yet at the same time it was grabbing Malcolm’s throat and _wringing it as hard as it could. _He was looking at him _softly, _his voice was _soft, _JT Tarmel was being _gentle _with him— _JT Tarmel was being gentle with him! _He was hyperventilating, by now. Jessica let go of his hand to reach up with her _other _and use _both _to try and get him looking back at her, but it was no use. His stomach was plummeting story after story as he stayed stuck on JT’s expression. The expression he never wore— the tone of voice he never used, as he continued. “Bright…it wasn’t supposed to come out like this.” Malcolm’s eyes were instantly burning with tears. His throat was hot. “It was _just…protocol, _Bright. I made _sure—_”

_“Don’t.” _The word was gagged out. Malcolm’s tears spilled over. His lips started trembling violently as he shook his head once, in a tiny, but hard motion. _“You—” _He tried to go on, but he couldn’t. His voice failed him, as his throat swelled shut. He tried to glare at them to show it didn’t faze him. He tried to hold his chin up, to show he wasn’t bothered. He tried to do _anything _that would get those _looks off their faces, _but he _couldn’t_. Instead, he was falling apart. His eyes were flooding with tears and his shoulders were beginning to shake with repressed sobs.

White-hot, blinding shame was crashing over him like a wave. Too strong for him to stand up against— knocking him down and drowning him before he had the fighting chance to try and beat the current. It was taking every chance he had to try and calm down and ripping it away from him. It was making him burn up immediately— it was boiling his blood, it was making his heart pound hard against his chest. He couldn’t fight it. Once it got the chance to take root, it was growing. He was trembling more, his face was coloring a bright, horrible, embarrassing red. He looked like he was going to be sick, even.

It was made worse when Gil took a quick couple steps forward, reaching out for him like he wanted to touch him. _“Bright, I’m—” _Malcolm jerked, stiffening and looking at him, instead. He couldn’t breathe, but neither could Gil, when he saw the heartbroken, ashamed way Malcolm was staring at him. He stopped short, not daring to walk any closer. His voice was in pieces. _“Bright, I’m— _I’m so sorry, I’m _so sorry, _JT told me not to, but I did anyway, he warned me it was—” He stopped himself, but far too late. Malcolm’s eyes were already widening even more. Gil may as well have punched him in the gut.

“I— …_no, _what I— what I _meant to say was—” _There was no use.

Bypassing his mother’s hold on his face, Malcolm wrenched his head so that the side of it was pressed firmly into the pillow again, the way it was when he’d woken up. This way, he could only see Jessica, who was watching him with stricken, worried eyes. He felt sick— he felt like he was going to _throw up. _His breathing, still much too fast, was labored and uneven, and loud in the new silence of the room.

_What had they seen? What had they seen?_

_You know what they saw, _the helpful voice came back, tone pleasant. _They saw _everything. _Look at the way they’re staring at you. Listen to how they talk to you. He was right. They might be looking at you right now, but what they _really _see is everything _else. _They see him holding you down…they see you crying. They’re thinking to themselves that you haven’t changed at all…you’re still just the weak, pitiful victim that’s just there to scream and cry and be pathetic. They saw everything you _did. _They saw it _all.

_I had to do it, I _had to, _I had no other _choice—

_Keep telling yourself that, _it mused. _And you can try to tell _them_ that, too. But you and I both know it won’t change shit. They’ll never be able to unsee what that camera had on it. How many _hours _of footage did they watch, anyway? Think of how _much _they were able to watch, while you’ve just been sitting here doing nothing because you can’t do anything for yourself._

_Stop. _Stop it, stop it!

_I was just answering a question, _it defended. A tiny pause, before it dug: _Nobody _else _is, you know._

He cringed. When he opened his eyes again they were filled with so much water he couldn’t see anything anymore. The world was back to being hazy and smeared, but this time it wasn’t going to go away. No matter how many times he blinked – no matter how many tears he shed – there were always more just waiting to blind him again. His mother was just a smudge, but he found himself staring at her, anyway.

She was taken aback, when he did. When her son fixed her with a look that was silent, yet screamed for help at the same time. She was smacked across the face with the sheer desperation that was in his tear-filled eyes. His hands were trembling just as violently as his lips were. It looked like he wanted to speak, but he couldn’t get enough air in, before it was being sent right back out in short, fast gasps. Every so often he jerked, in a way that made her worried he was _actually _going to be sick. The desperation on his face was disarming in itself, but her breath was snatched away from her when she saw just _how much _shame was there to see, too. She’d never seen him look so humiliated, before.

And he was staring at _her, _for help.

She held his gaze for a couple moments, too winded to look away. When she did, she whirled around, her expression, so soft and lost before when it met her son’s, now hardening into a glower so fierce it would send any sane individual backing up at _least _a couple steps. Sure enough, when she turned to them and stood back up, JT was rushing to backpedal, raising his hands in even more of surrender. His gentle look was snapping right into a cautious contrite, instead. Gil, however, wasn’t looking away from Malcolm, who was still staring through the spot his mother had been in just a moment ago, miserable and distraught.

She fixed her glare on Gil, mostly. Her voice was nothing more than a snarl. It was forced to leak out between her clenched teeth. “Get out of here.” JT dropped his arms to his side and ducked his head, clearly giving in. Gil remained a statue, watching as, when he heard this, Malcolm cringed and started crying harder. His face fell and it looked like he was going to try and say something to him again.

Before he had the chance, Jessica was stalking forward, planting herself protectively between him and her son. Her eyes smoldered with even more rage. _“Out,” _she snapped. When nobody moved, she turned, sweeping her gaze over Dani and Edrisa, this time, too. _“All _of you!” The two girls straightened, confused. Edrisa glanced one more time at Malcolm before she obeyed, fixing her gaze on the floor and backing away in such a rush it was a miracle she didn’t trip. Dani didn’t move right away, though. She stayed, not sure whether she was angry or sad. One thing was for sure: she knew she didn’t want to leave.

But when she didn’t, Jessica was not above fixing _her_ with her glare. _“Everyone out!” _she yelled. Dani jerked, ripping her eyes away from Malcolm. She weakened when she met her scowl. If there was some means of arguing against her, she couldn’t get her tongue to work well enough for it. Under his mother’s icy stare, she started to back away, too. Jessica went back to fixing Gil with her glare— the only one of the team who _still _wasn’t listening to her.

“Everyone out,” she repeated, in a lower hiss. “I _told you, _this was meant to _help. _That there would be _no _mention of _anything _that would upset him. That was your _one job.” _Gil ripped his gaze away from Malcolm, just as lost when he looked at her. But she held no pity for him. Her scowl only worsened, when their eyes met. “Get out of my house,” she snarled. Gil’s eyes widened and went for Ainsley, but she wasn’t listening; she was knelt on the floor in front of Malcolm, murmuring softly to him as he flinched away from her. _“Gil!” _He looked back, reeling. _“Out!” _she just snapped.

He floundered, opening his mouth. But she wasn’t going to have any of it, and they all knew it. JT scowled, glaring at the back of his head as he reached out and clamped a hand around his wrist. He yanked him for the door. Gil didn’t fight, just staggering back and staring at Malcolm with despair. Edrisa hunched her shoulders and spun around to follow. Dani, however, lingered. All the indignance that had been on her face at Jessica’s unexpected snap towards _her _was gone.

She looked at Malcolm sorrowfully, her chest feeling empty. She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay…even if that meant just sitting beside him while he cried, she didn’t even care. She just wanted to be in the same _room _as him. She wanted to be in his same proximity, see him with her own eyes— see that he was _safe, _and even though he wasn’t happy like he’d been when they’d first come in, at least he was _that_, and they could work on the happy part again later. Leaving was the _last _thing she wanted to do, especially without even saying some sort of goodbye. But when she looked back at Jessica, she saw in her eyes that there was no possible way of that happening. That right now, she didn’t have a choice.

So she stuffed aside whatever she was feeling and forced herself to turn and walk out the door, too.

Jessica barked out once they all were on the other side of the threshold: _“Louisa! See them out!”_ She didn’t wait to make sure the order was taken up; she knew it would be. No sooner did she shout those last few words, was she turning around, looking back at her son. Ainsley was still trying to get him to look at her. But he’d grabbed the blankets and pulled them up over his head more, as if he couldn’t stand to be seen. The reach was awkward and not all that effective, with his left arm putting up an obstacle. But he was doing the best he could. Jessica’s heart broke when she heard that he was softly crying, into the sheets.

Ainsley sat back on her heels and looked up at her, at a loss. Jessica wasn’t feeling any better.

But, taking in a deep breath, she steeled herself. She tried to stay strong, but when she paced forward and replaced Ainsley, she already felt her expression straining and crumbling. She cleared her throat to try and make sure at least her voice could be steady. “Malcolm, dear…” His crying stuttered, but he stayed underneath the blankets. Staring at him now, a shivering lump underneath the covers, she felt a harrowing sense of déjà vu, back to when they were in the hospital. When he never so much as poked his head out of the blankets. When all he would do would be hide underneath them and cry.

Seeing him like that again now, and realizing the implication, so much fear rushed at her at once, it was difficult to remain composed. Still, she tried. That was all she could do for her son, now: try. She lifted her lips into a smile, reaching out and gently grabbing hold of the blanket enough to nudge it down. He didn’t try and fight her. Her heart panged with pain so severe it was a miracle she didn’t react outwardly, when she saw the look he wore.

He looked miserable. He looked _mortified. _Tears were streaming down his face. His expression was twisted— pinched, and strained. His wavering lips were pressed into a thin line, to try and keep all his sobs from bursting out of him right then and there. His right hand was balled into a fist, but it was shaking like a leaf. When she looked him head-on, and he stared at her with just as much desolate sorrow as he had before, she found herself once again having to climb over a mental hurdle to be able to function. To smile at him, and speak in a way that wouldn’t have her voice breaking into pieces.

“I’m…I’m _so _sorry, darling,” she rasped eventually. “I was…just trying to _help_…”

Ainsley stood nearer to Allison now, expression pained and arms crossed as she watched carefully.

For a long moment, Malcolm didn’t say or do anything but just look at her like that. Pleadingly, even though she had no idea what he was pleading her to _do. _She’d never seen him look this lost, this desperate. And unfortunately, she’d seen her son at the end of his rope plenty of times. Not like this, though. This was something different; that was how she knew it was bad.

After her son had passed out in Ainsley’s arms and they had set him back down on the bed, making sure he was still breathing and everything was okay, she had rounded on the two men, demanding they tell her what in the hell was happening. Gil, of course, had been speechless. JT had been the one to cry it out, fury shaking every single one of his words. “Gil watched the evidence videos of Malcolm— when I _told _him _not _to! When _everyone had told him not to!” _

Dani’s eyes had rounded out with shock and anger. “You _what!?” _she’d demanded.

He’d tried to defend himself. “I— just wanted— to see what happened— but it— _snowballed, I—!” _

Jessica had been _shaken _with her fury. She’d been so angry she could barely speak. She’d seen nothing but red when she’d snarled, “I told you…_never…_to mention those videos in _my house…ever again.” _Her blood was boiling, everything in her was screaming and begging for her to just _fly _at him. She had no idea how she’d refrained. She _hated _those recordings. She knew nothing about them, and yet they kept her up at night. It was bad enough to know that Winston had hurt her son to this degree…it was made ten times worse when she considered the fact he would have made sure to _record _it all.

“I’m trying to get my son to realize there’s still a life waiting for him when he’s better— I invite you all over so he can see that his friends still care about him and want him to recover, and _what do you do!? You ruin _everything_, just like you’ve ruined everything up until this point!” _Gil jerked, his eyes widening. She’d scowled, staring at him with hatred. _Deep _hatred, for the man that had brought her son onto Winston’s case, that had failed to find him soon enough, that had taken what little progress her son had worked so hard to achieved and stomped on it just now— the man that had made her have to watch her son fall into panic so harsh and deep that he’d fainted.

She’d scowled, whipping away from him as she’d rushed back for Malcolm. She’d stooped over him, leaning down and cradling his face in her hands. “Malcolm…Malcolm, darling, wake up!” He’d stayed numb. _“Malcolm! _Darling, _please!” _But nothing; he’d remained still and serene. She’d sniffed, aware of everyone’s eyes on her as she looked up at Ainsley and just barked: “Call Allison— tell her to come back!”

_Now_, at least he was awake. He was sobbing weakly to himself, and fixing her with this heartbreaking look, but at least he was _there. _He was alright…in the loosest sense of the word. Tenderly, she began to brush his tears away. There were so many…his mouth closed tight so the sobs that _did _wrench itself out of him were just tense whimpers or squeaks. As she wiped his eyes, they started to become more apparent and frequent; they were tearing her heart apart. He ducked his head and started to shake with every weak cry.

“Malcolm…sweetheart, it’s _okay; _they left, darling. You just need to calm—”

“What’d they tell you?” She could hardly understand the question, it was so clogged with tears. When she didn’t answer right away, he opened his eyes and looked up at her. When he did, her own expression crumbled, and even more tears rushed to fill her eyes. She had a good handle on herself and yet when he looked up at her, she suddenly felt like she was two seconds away from breaking down.

He was still staring at her as though he was begging her for something. Her silence only made him grow more desperate. “What’d they _tell _you!?” he repeated just a little louder, his voice breaking as he raised it that little fraction. It wasn’t loud at all, between his hoarseness and his crying, but it still made her cringe as if he’d screamed. The second he pressed himself to yell again, he was crying even more, a couple whimpers actually making their way out to be sobs this time.

She kept wiping his eyes, shaking her head. “They…they didn’t tell me anything…”

He didn’t believe her. She could tell.

Her expression fractured. Weakened. She searched his face for a couple of moments, before she caved. Her lips shook for just a second, but then she took in a quick breath. She tried to focus on wiping his eyes, to make it easier for her to get this next part out. If she didn’t think about what was coming out of her mouth, maybe it would make it easier to say. “They…they told me they’d seen the videos—” The _instant_ she said the word, he was sobbing hard all over again. He was jerking forward like he was going to throw up, ducking his head down like he wanted to hide his face into her hands, rather than be held by them.

He wanted to hide away— he didn’t want to be seen.

She bent down, nearly pressing her forehead to his. “But they _didn’t tell us anything else,” _she rushed, having to talk louder, to be heard over his body-shaking sobbing. She stroked his cheeks, trying to nudge his head back up. “They didn’t say anything else, they didn’t tell us anything, Malcolm. I told them I _never _wanted to hear about those tapes, Malcolm. I told them _never _to so much as _speak _of them.” He stopped short. He still looked horribly ashamed. But she could tell he was faltering, with this.

Her eyes softened. “You’re okay…” she murmured tearfully. “You’re okay sweetheart…” She wasn’t even sure what she was reassuring him _about _at this point. The sentiments just slipped out by habit.

Just as she expected, they did nothing for him. He stared at her for a couple of moments and she almost started to think they _would _do something. But then his eyes were breaking with pain all over again. “But— they— _they—” _He couldn’t finish. He just hung his head, saying everything he couldn’t in the form of empty sobs. They were bottomless, and yawned with sorrow and shame she couldn’t even fathom. Her heart was already broken, but someone was stepping on all the pieces as he started to just cry, because he couldn’t do anything else.

She cringed, not knowing what to do. For a moment, she just sat there and allowed herself to crumble, too. She cringed and felt her eyes and throat burn hotter and hotter. She felt her own sobs begin to bubble up in her chest, aching and begging to be let out. But at the last second she pulled herself together. She inhaled sharply through her nose, opening her eyes and looking at her son, knowing that for right now, she needed to be the strong one for him. Her son was hurt, he was scared, and now he was struggling to come to terms with something horrifying. She needed to be the rock in this situation.

She shook her head, leaning down and wrapping her arms around him gently. He tensed at first, but he didn’t fight, and he remained limp when she gathered him close. She held him so that his head could nestle on her shoulder, his forehead pressing softly against her neck. She held his too-thin frame in her arms and reached up to thread her fingers through his hair— the hair she had cut herself, still brittle and coarse in comparison to what it usually was. “Shhh…” He kept sobbing against her neck; his crying was turning hollow and empty. Gently, she began to sway and rock him from side to side. “Shhh…it’ll be okay…”

Any other time and he would have brushed her off. He would have snapped at her not to treat him like a child. That he was _fine, _and she was smothering him.

He didn’t, now.

He let her hug him. He let her hold him. He let her pet through his hair and shush him and kiss the top of his head. He didn’t fight at all; he laid there limp in her arms and continued to cry, letting her handle him with all the care in the world, as if he was made of glass.

That’s how she knew this was _really _bad.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He walked inside, his steps slow, stiff, and robotic. He was numb, when he shut the door behind him. He was numb when he started walking, not even paying attention to where he was going.

In his head, he heard the door of the Whitly house slam on them. Saw everyone’s judgmental, furious looks settle on him the moment they’d been ushered outside.

Dani had been the first to speak; her voice was controlled, but he could tell how much effort it was taking her to keep it in check. “Gil…” He hadn’t stopped crying yet. He wasn’t stopping now. Silently, tears streaming down his face, he waited for what he knew was coming. What he knew he deserved. The disappointment that came over her face as she’d stared at him was something he hadn’t been expecting, though. _That _cut deep, when it registered. “What did you _do?”_

His hands balled into shaking fists. He’d started speaking before he could stop himself— blurting out what was on his tongue before he even knew what it was. “Don’t look at me like that!” he’d snapped. She’d only scowled more at the harshness in his voice. _“You _wanted to know just as much as I did! _You _watched some, too— we watched the first few _together, _Dani, don’t _tell me you didn’t want to see!”_ he’d yelled.

JT had cut in before she had the chance to reply. He’d pushed forward, rounding on him. His eyes had been smoldering with anger. He’d jabbed a finger hard into his chest. “Dani was _on. This. Case!” _he’d yelled right back at him. “Dani was on the case and doing what she was supposed to— and when I told her that _I _was going to be the only one to watch them from now on, she didn’t argue! She didn’t _sneak the evidence herself, _she _took the order that was given to her!” _He’d scowled at him, and jabbed his finger into him a second time. “I _told _you not to watch anything! I _told you _to stay away, and _this _was exactly why! You’re _too close _to him! You can’t separate _him _from the _evidence! _You walked in there and all you saw was whatever you found on those recordings!”

“And _you_ didn’t!?” Gil had demanded, his voice cracking.

JT had locked his jaw back, shaking his head hard. He’d looked away for a second, regathering himself before he’d taken in a fast breath and turned back. “No,” he’d growled. Gil faltered, his eyes rounding out. “_No_. Gil. I _didn’t_. I saw _him.” _Gil jerked back a little, as though burned. JT hadn’t said anything else. But the look in his eyes as he’d stared him down said more than enough.

So did the stares of Dani and Edrisa— even the shorter of the two had been looking at him in mournful disappointment. He’d tried to speak, but he couldn’t manage it. Nothing would come out. Nobody else had spoken, they’d just all turned and left— going their separate ways now that the one thing that had tied them all together wasn’t there anymore. Gil had stood for ages on the street, though, just staring off into space. Thinking about another time he had been outside the Whitly’s house…knelt down on this very same pavement, and extending a hard candy to the little boy that had just saved his life.

Now, he was home again, but there was no relief in the fact. He walked blindly, lingering on what had just happened, when he’d looked up and suddenly found that he’d walked into the kitchen. At first, he stood dumbly, doing absolutely nothing. His gaze was heavy, when he slowly looked at the island in the middle of the room. His heart ripped with fresh, new, agonizing pain, when he remembered how many times Jackie and the kids had baked together, there. How alive the room seemed to be, with their laughter and their voices, and the delicious smell of whatever it was that they were making that night.

The instant he was remembering Jackie swooping down and grabbing Malcolm’s hands, pulling him with her and spinning around as she sang, his tears were back with a vengeance. He felt like someone was carving slowly into him, as he thought of his wife and how bright her eyes had been— how Malcolm had smiled and even giggled as he’d stumbled along with her, trying his best to move with the music.

Gil cringed, leaning against the nearest counter and ducking his head. He sucked in a hard breath, and when he let it out, it was broken and fragmented into weak sobs that shook his shoulders. He remembered how he’d held Malcolm, sobbing and screaming, and had started to sing that same song. How it had brought him _back _to him. How eventually, instead of restraining him, Gil had been cradling him close to his chest, with all the protectiveness and love he’d wanted to give him this entire time. How Malcolm had let him, clutching to his shirt as a silent, terrified plea for him not to leave.

He’d _had _him…he’d had his _kid _back. And now…

Now…

Sorrow and despair were clenching hard around his heart, but as the thought occurred, a third emotion came to join, even stronger than the other two combined. Anger. _Rage. _At himself, for messing this all up when the pieces had only just begun to start the arduous feat of putting themselves together again. At Winston, for doing this to Malcolm in the first place— for harming him and taping every last second of it. At _Malcolm, _for _saving_ Winston when he could have saved _himself_. At JT, for not understanding— at _Dani _for not understanding. At Jessica, for the blame he knew she placed solely on his shoulders. At the nurses, for not doing enough for Malcolm.

Anger burned like lava in his veins. It was directed at anyone and everyone. It was strong, and it only built and layered on itself. Took away his tears and made his eyes narrow instead— made his sobs turn to harsh, thick gasps. He glowered at absolutely nothing as it built, only getting worse and worse. Until finally, he broke. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.

Letting out a scream of desolate fury, Gil reared his arm back and punched the wall as hard as he could. Over and over. Until the wall cracked and caved in. Until he couldn’t force himself to hit any longer. Until he was in too much pain. By the time he was through, his voice was hoarse from screeching. He staggered, gasping, left without any energy at all. He hit the island and slowly slid to the floor, holding his hand to his chest and choking on the agony centered in his knuckles. Blood was pouring down his arm, but he wasn’t even looking at it. His eyes, dulling over with exhaustion and futility now, just stayed on the split he’d created in the wall.

On the line of the fracture now cutting through the once-perfect kitchen.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She knocked, but let herself in anyway. Which was just as well, because he didn’t call out to her giving her permission. Gabrielle opened the door to the study, her heels loud against the hardwood floor. She stopped for a moment, first seeing Malcolm, believing he was asleep. But no. When he heard her coming, he shifted the covers quickly, to see who it was. It was difficult to see, in the room – the light was off and the curtain was drawn – but she could see the faint bags that were forming underneath his eyes, telling her all she needed to know about how the night before had passed.

Jessica had called her shortly after the incident. Still, she hadn’t been able to make it until today. But she came first thing. The early morning sunlight was doing its best to penetrate the drawn curtains, and offer some light in the room. But the thing that was mostly helping was the nightlight plugged into the wall. Its warm yellow glow offered her the best view possible of Malcolm. Again, seeing him this way – exhausted and scared and less than a fraction of what he was supposed to weigh – had her heart twisting. But, ever the professional, she didn’t show it.

She felt relief hit her like a wave crashing into the shore when she saw recognition in his eyes. And yet the relief was offset by the way his eyes flashed when he saw her. The way he still stayed mostly underneath the covers. She could feel it in the air…he didn’t want her here. Against herself, she had to hold back a little smile. She hadn’t felt this from him in ages – when he was younger he would practically fly into her office, and of course even now when he was older he refused to find someone more suitable to his age – but she _had _felt it before. She recalled when he had first been brought to her— when he had refused to talk and had just sat in the chair and glared at the floor. Yes…this was reminiscent of that. And though it pained her to see Malcolm having regressed to that, at least it was something she understood. And more importantly, something she had already worked around once before.

“Malcolm.” Her voice was warm. Of course it was— she was relieved beyond words to see him again, and that relief was made even stronger when she saw he had rationality back in his grip. He wasn’t clinging to the sucker she had given him, either. Her eyes flashed, and she gave him a little smile as she walked closer, looking down and digging around in her bag. “I…brought something for you,” she said, rummaging for a moment before she produced another lollipop. This one was cotton candy— it was the flavor she usually ran out of first, with her kids. She’d snagged one especially for him.

He just stared at it. He didn’t move. Eventually, he mumbled: “Gil said I held onto the other sucker for days.” His voice was quiet, but it was even quieter hidden behind the sheet pulled up over his mouth.

Gabrielle nodded. “You did. You held it for a couple of weeks.”

He looked from her to the sucker. He weakened just slightly before: “I don’t remember that.”

She regarded him carefully for a couple moments, before she took in a slow breath. She walked closer and noticed how he stiffened away from her. But she just set the sucker down on his bedside table before she walked back again and pulled up a chair. She kept a couple feet away, to be safe. She made sure he wasn’t reacting badly before she started. “That can be very frightening…not remembering something that everyone else does.” He hugged the blanket tighter to him. He said nothing, his eyes flickering away. “But it’s very _normal _with trauma, Malcolm…to forget bits and pieces. For your memory to fail you.”

He stayed silent. Kept his eyes averted.

“I understand you only have bits and pieces right now. And I can only imagine what that’s like,” she murmured. “But…from what your mother told me when she called, it seems like you’re beginning to remember some aspects, of your time away.” This, he reacted to. She saw how he stiffened— how his eyes flew to her and how his expression changed. “Do you want to talk about what you’re beginning to remember?” He closed his eyes. She tried to double back. “Or, perhaps we should start somewhere easier…how about you tell me how you’re getting along, here? How it feels…to be back home?”

He was mute.

She pursed her lips. Tried a new tactic. “Your mother was very relieved when you came back to yourself, Malcolm— everybody was.” This seemed to hit some sort of nerve. Something changed in his expression, though she wasn’t sure what. She decided to keep going, to see if she couldn’t figure out what it was. Draw him out, more. “They were very worried, in the hospital…your sister, and Gil. They were the only ones I saw, but…” He’d tensed even more, somewhere in the middle of her words. “I can only imagine how happy they were, when you—”

“There were videos.” It was just a whisper, but she was cutting off immediately, anyway. He was staring straight ahead, but not at her. “Winston…he took videos. Of me. Did you know his name was Winston, because I didn’t.” He was talking in a rush. The words almost blurred together— it didn’t help that they were quiet, too. “The whole time…the whole time I had no idea what his name was, he was just someone that came and hurt me every single day. And he took videos of it.” His eyes were getting shinier. “He took videos of it and Gil watched them— Gil _and _JT they both saw they saw what he did and what I did and—” His breathing was getting more and more elevated, in fractional amounts.

She stiffened. She started to try and fumble for something to say. “You…said that—?”

“They didn’t look at me the same. They pitied me. They were just thinking of the recordings, that’s all I am to them— but that’s all I am now _regardless.” _He was mumbling fast. Somehow, Gabrielle began to come to the conclusion that he had forgotten she was there at all, and that for right now he was just talking to himself. Mumbling almost like he was insane. “I’m not me anymore I’m just a product of those recordings, I’m the _scraps_ he left behind— broken pieces of a whole that’s not there anymore and can never be there, because even if people _don’t _know what happened to me they know something _did. _And _I _know what happened to me— I know I’m not the same, that I’ll never be the same, that nothing is going to change and that everything is ruined and there’s no way for me to fix it.

“He warned me. He told me that people wouldn’t see me anymore, that I wouldn’t be _me _anymore I didn’t realize how right he was. I’m not me anymore, I’m _his— _I’m what _he _made me become, and Gil and JT— they know what’s on those recordings, they know what I did and what he did and now that’s all they’ll see, that’s all they’ll see, just like it’s all I think about.” She kept trying to intervene— to cut into his rambling, but he was speaking too fast. There was never a break for her to interject. She could hardly understand what he was saying in the first place. It was only made worse when he started to cry.

“I’m not me anymore, I’m not _me,” _he wept. “I can’t even _sit up _by myself, I can’t even _point my feet _because I’m _broken _and he made me that way and I’ll always be broken, even if I heal and can get up and walk and function I’ll _still _be broken and Gil will _still _cry when he looks at me— I spent every single night dreaming of being able to be home, and see everyone again, but now I’m here and I see their pity and I hear them whispering about me and I don’t want it— I didn’t want it to be this way, and now I’m remembering everything— everything I had to do, everything I—”

_“Malcolm, you need to calm down,” _she finally insisted. “Take a deep breath, count to five and—”

“Why didn’t he just kill me?” She was stopped dead when he sobbed out this weak question. Her face fell, as she stared at him. His eyes were shut, and his shoulders shook as he started to cry harder. “Why didn’t he kill me like he killed all the others!? Why didn’t he just _kill _me!? At least _then _nobody would have seen what I did! Why did he let me live, why didn’t he just kill me!?”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“No,” Jessica said immediately.

Gabrielle pursed her lips. “It’s not exactly something you can say no to, Jessica.”

The woman weakened with desperation. “I _can’t…_have him leave again.” She looked into the study. The door was closed and they were out in the hall. Ainsley was inside the room, sitting at Malcolm’s bedside. Her daughter’s expression was heavy. It hurt just to see. She looked back at Gabrielle, pleadingly. “Please…you don’t understand, you _can’t _send him to another hospital, he’ll just get _worse, _he—!”

“Malcolm is not _mentally ready enough_ to be here,” she interrupted, her voice firm. She did her best not to pay attention to how defeated Jessica was already becoming. “He needs to go someplace where the focus is solely on him, with trained professionals around the clock providing him the care that he needs physically as well as mentally.” Her eyes flashed when she pressed: “He needs someone with him _at all times, _to ensure he is not a danger to _himself.” _

“My son is not a danger to himself,” she objected quickly.

Gabrielle raised her eyebrows. “The incident with his head?” she prompted.

Jessica’s face fell. “He was— he was just trying to wake himself up! He stopped as _soon _as he realized what was actually going on, and he hasn’t done anything like that since!”

The therapists’ expression grew graver. “And the scars? On his arms?”

This quieted her even more. She glanced back into the study. She couldn’t see them right now, with the way Malcolm was laying, but she knew the scars she was asking about. The thin, white horizontal ones. Her breath shook on its way down. “I…I don’t know where those came from…” She was quiet for a couple of seconds, just staring in at her son. Before she shook herself and turned back. “But they’re _old, _he—”

“It shows a _capability_,” Gabrielle turned down. “And with everything he said to me—”

“Gabrielle. _Please.” _She was desperate, now. “Please…if our past means _anything _to you…” She already began to tense, and open her mouth to reject the attempt, but she was rushing on. “Gabrielle, _look _at me. You _know _I will do _anything _for my son.” Every single word of hers shook with conviction. “I will not leave my son alone for a single _second, _someone will _constantly _be with him, you can continue to come and speak with him, I can…hire an _adult _therapist to speak with him _too…” _She clasped her hands tightly in front of her, like she was praying to anyone that was listening, that this would be enough.

Gabrielle weakened. She opened her mouth but closed it. Glanced doubtfully into the study.

Jessica took the tiny sign of hesitation and struggled to yank on it, like it was a loose string in a sweater and she was trying to unravel the whole thing. “I’ll call you every day with updates, I’ll— I’ll put padding on the siderails! He’ll meet with someone frequently, I’ll talk with him more…_please.” _She clasped her hands ever tighter. Tears were beginning to prick to life in her eyes. Her voice trembled when she pressed: _“Please…please, Gabrielle, don’t take my son away from me again.”_

She was quiet for quite some time. Continuing to stare doubtfully into the room.

When she looked back at Jessica, her expression retained that skepticism.

Her voice was layered with hesitation. But still, she returned a small: “Alright.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Malcolm sat against the wall, staring off into space. The room was so quiet, every one of his shaking, shivering breaths were audible. The sun was setting; so little of it managed to get into the factory at all in the first place— pretty soon, it would be pitch black. Winston had left only a couple minutes ago. He’d left something behind. Malcolm was staring dully down at it. It was a singular cheeseburger, still in its fast-food wrapper. Going by how displaced the factory had been from everything else, and how long it had taken to just _get _it in the first place, JT knew it would be cold. Just the thought of trying to eat it was making his stomach churn. Maybe that was why Malcolm was staring at the way he was— so apathetically, and blankly.

It had been nine days since he’d last eaten something.

The longer this went on, the less time he could last, going without food.

His tiny sniff was loud, in the new silence. Slowly, swaying from one side to the other, he looked down at himself. His expression remained blank— just the tiniest bit disoriented. With another sniff, he tugged his left jacket sleeve up again so that it wasn’t falling off his shoulder. His hand shook when he reached up and tried to smooth his hair back a little more. It was too ratty and matted with blood to make a difference, but he still tried. He tried to do whatever he could to try and fix himself. His shirt collar was flipped up— he pushed it back down; he tried to fix the cuffs of his shirt, too, but it was difficult with how baggy his outfit already was on him.

JT watched all these slow, dragging gestures, and he was almost caught off-guard by how _sad_ it made him. Watching him try to worry about all these small, insignificant things, purely to avoid thinking about what had just happened, to get that ice-cold fast-food burger. But he could only fuss over nothing for so long. Eventually, he was back to looking at it, his eyes taking on that heaviness again. Almost a full minute passed, before he finally reached out for it. He grabbed the burger and peeled back the wrapper. He took a bite, and grimaced— confirming JT’s assumption of it being much too cold. But still, he choked back the bite, and took another one after.

He sat there studying the ground as he chewed, grimacing frequently as he did. When he swallowed, he lifted his head a little, and his eyes caught on the camera. JT’s heart skipped a beat and he straightened, like he always did when Malcolm looked straight at the camcorder. He didn’t say anything— he didn’t talk to him as if he was there. He didn’t take another bite. He just stared. He was so still that for a second, JT wondered whether or not the video had just ended, there. But then Malcolm moved. He looked down at the burger, and then back up at the camera. Understanding began to tighten JT’s chest when he saw the look that was crawling over Malcolm’s face.

His expression was falling, slowly. His eyebrows knitted together, and his shoulders drooped. He looked at the camera almost guiltily— the way a kid might look at their parent when they knew they did something wrong. JT closed his eyes and hunched over, rubbing his forehead as he watched Malcolm’s lower lip tremble violently. He looked back down at the food, and his sniff was louder— more congested. He heard him whimper, and choke back on a sob. He felt horrible when Malcolm looked back at the camera again.

When he recognized the look he wore _now_, as the same look he’d worn the last time he’d seen him.

Malcolm screwed his eyes shut tightly. He let go of the burger; it dropped to the ground but he didn’t care. He just hung his head, holding it in his hands as he started to cry. His voice was chipped and weak – pathetic just to _hear _– as his sobs built. “I’m—” He broke off. He took a couple more fast breaths, struggling to hiss out against his abused throat: “I’m s— sor—” He gave up. He just shook his head, slouching back against the wall and sliding to the floor. He laid on his side and curled up as much as he could, hiding still, like he was trying to avoid the camera.

He sobbed into knees. Ashamed, and disgusted with himself.

He didn’t eat any more.

He couldn’t.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He hadn’t talked all day. Just like he hadn’t talked all day _yesterday. _Ainsley had come home from work just a short while ago, and she’d immediately gone to her brother. She was going to take the ‘shift’ of sleeping in his room with him tonight. Her mother had done it the past two, and though she would adamantly insist differently, Ainsley knew it was taking a lot out of her. It had been nearly two hours since she’d gotten home, and though she had tried every which way to get him to talk to her, Malcolm had refused every attempt. He was staring off to the side, instead. His eyes were filled with tears. She knew the second he blinked, they would fall. Maybe that was why he wasn’t.

She’d been so desperate, she’d pulled out the big guns. Sunshine was sitting on her finger, tweeting as she scurried this way and that. “Mal, you wanna hold her?” she asked, forcing herself to sound happy. It was a tall order. But he wasn’t even looking at her, to be able to see how fake her smile was. She wilted, before she scooted a little closer, trying again. “She’s missed you, Mal!” she pressed. “You’re her dad! She’s missed her dad, haven’t you, Sunshine?” She held her out towards him. Ainsley beamed when she flew off her finger and landed on Malcolm’s head like she usually did.

But he didn’t even blink. Even when she stomped all around and teased at his hair, he stayed the same. Ainsley let her fake happiness fall away from her. She weakened, looking at him dismally as he ignored his parakeet. She gnawed on the inside of her lip, before she tore it, reaching out again and taking Sunshine from him. She put her back in her cage, feeling horrible for some reason, when Sunshine squawked after her. She went back to sit beside her brother.

“Mal…” He could tell the difference, when she said his name. His tear-filled eyes flickered to her. He still hadn’t blinked, yet. Ainsley forced herself to hold his gaze, her stomach jolting. “I…I have _no _idea…what you’re going through,” she started to hedge. His eyes flickered away immediately. He blinked, and she watched a tear track down his cheek. “I’m not even going to pretend to know…but…but _we’re _here for you, Mal…me and Mom. And…and I’m _sure _that Gil just wants to be there for you, _too, _he—”

“They couldn’t look at me.” His lips hardly moved, to get the words out. Ainsley’s face fell. She tried to speak, but nothing could come out. He wasn’t done, anyway. He was staring a hole in the wall, but he kept speaking to her. Or…maybe it _wasn’t _to her. “They couldn’t even look at me normally, they just saw what happened to me…they just saw how pathetic I was,” he whispered numbly.

Ainsley’s eyes widened. “Malcolm…_Malcolm, _you’re not pathetic. Don’t say that…”

His reply was immediate, and just as hushed. “Yes I am I’m pathetic and disgusting and worthless and nothing.” Ainsley was smacked across the face with the quiet declaration. He said it so automatically that she almost had trouble hearing it at all. One word seemed to blend into the other, he spoke so fast, but perhaps it was the horror those words inspired that let her understand better. His voice was dull and robotic, like he was reciting from a script. Sure enough, he wasn’t fazed at all. His expression was still that same apathetic, even _when _he said those awful things about himself.

She was so shocked it took her almost ten full seconds to get her tongue to work again. She sounded almost nauseated. “Malcolm…don’t say that about yourself…” It was all she could get out.

Again, in contrast, his reply was lightning-fast. “Why not?”

Ainsley stared at him, her mouth dry. Something in her chest was hurting, and it was hurting a _lot. _When she spoke, she could barely get her voice to crack its way out. “Because it’s not _true, _Mal…”

He just blinked again. Another tear fell.

She wilted, before she got herself to move. She laid down beside him, turning on her side so that he was forced to look at _her, _instead of at the wall. He blinked when she planted herself in his line of vision, but he didn’t react very much. He stayed that mostly blank slate. Yet she could see that in the far reaches of his gaze, there was deep, deep sorrow. He was trying not to let that emotion surface, but she could see it anyway. _She _wasn’t trying to hide her sorrow. It was plain to read on her face, like a book. She looked at him anxiously, absolutely heartbroken. “You don’t believe that, Mal…I _know _you don’t…”

He stared at her in silence. She thought silence was all she was going to _get. _Before he whispered, “You don’t know anything.”

The words hurt. “Yes, I _do,” _she defended. “I might not know what happened to you, Malcolm, but I know _you. _I know how hard things have always been for you, but I also know how you’ve _always _beaten the odds that were given to you.” He still didn’t react. She curled a little closer. “Malcolm…I know we haven’t…_always _been on the same side and I’m sorry about that, but you have to know I’ve _always _admired you.” She paused, taking in a sharper breath before she lifted her lips up into a smile that was much too sad, and watery. “You’re my older brother, Mal,” she sniffled. “I love you _so _much. _That’s _what I know.”

For a long moment, her words hung in the air between them. Nothing happened, at first.

But then Malcolm’s eyes flashed. His lips shook and he cringed, starting to cry. At first, she dared to hope that it was just because he was so touched. But the hope was crushed when he spoke, in between his hiccupping sobs. “No…_no_, you don’t _know_ anything…” She wilted, confused. But, unfortunately, clarity came, when he continued. “You don’t know anything that happened…” She stiffened, opening her mouth, about to rush into a stream of reassurances, but he wasn’t through. “You don’t know anything that happened, you don’t know what he did, you don’t know what _I _did…” The longer he spoke, the harder he sobbed.

Ainsley’s heart sank. “Mal…Mal, I don’t— I don’t _need _to know—”

“If you knew, you wouldn’t think that!” he choked. She jerked like he’d slapped her. He cried longer, harder, louder, shaking his head and gasping hard in between every sob. “If you knew what I did you wouldn’t love me anymore you would look at me the _same _way— you wouldn’t look at me the same! And _don’t _say you wouldn’t because I _know you would, you would agree with me, if you knew— if you knew you’d agree with them you’d look at me different like I’m pathetic and disgusting and worthless and—"_

_“Malcolm, Malcolm, stop!” _He’d started to hyperventilate— too deep and too fast to be able to keep going for very long. He was going to pass out, if he kept breathing that way. Sure enough, when she steadied his shoulder, she felt him begin to sway, even when he was laying down. If he was standing up, she was sure he would have fallen. He stared down at the blankets, his eyes wide and stricken. His breathing turned slower and more ragged. She tried to get him to look at her again. “Malcolm, _stop…_Malcolm, I don’t _care _about what happened! Even if I _did_, I would still love you!”

He kept his eyes down. They were turning hollow. So was his voice, when he eventually rasped: “You wouldn’t…” She closed her eyes, biting down on her frustration when he _still_ refused to listen. When his eyes still watered, and tears still blinked down his face. “You wouldn’t, you wouldn’t love me anymore…if you knew, you wouldn’t love me…” He ducked his head, beginning to weep again; his sobs were soft, but they cut straight to Ainsley’s heart. He didn’t say anything else— he was crying too hard to.

She stared at him, blanking. She had so many things she wanted to say. So many arguments she wanted to give him. She wanted to keep going until she _made _him see that she would still love him no matter what. That what happened to him didn’t define him. That he was still her older brother and he was always going to be— that she would always love him fiercely. But…looking at him and seeing how broken he was, she knew that there wasn’t anything she could say. That, at least right now, he wouldn’t listen.

So she bit back all her hurt. She just snuggled closer to him and let out a sad sigh, resting her head against his shoulder. She didn’t try to speak. All she offered was her presence; she knew that’s all he was willing to receive right now. So just laid there, her expression and heart heavy as she listened to him cry.

Wishing with all her heart that she could do something to take away all his hurt, all his pain.

Even if she had no idea what it stemmed from.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_“Do you hate him?” _

_Gil jumped, whirling around. Malcolm was standing in the entryway to the kitchen. Jackie had called earlier and told him the kids were over, but it had turned into a late night. He’d figured the kids would be asleep by now. And it seemed like he was _supposed _to be. He was in his pajamas, but his hair wasn’t messy. He didn’t look tired at all. Which wasn’t a surprise, but at the same time, he felt a pang of sympathy. The kid could never seem to get to sleep. He was so caught up in his own thoughts he completely forgot the question that had startled him in the first place. Confusion clouded over his face. “Do I…do I hate who? Who are you asking about?” he asked._

_Malcolm was hugging himself, and he hugged himself tighter when he murmured: “My father.” Gil straightened, all the confusion clearing. His face fell, instead. So did the little boy’s, though his was much harder to stomach. “When you think about him…do you hate him? For what he almost did? For…what he _has _done?” He looked anxious. Near-desperate. _

_For a while, he could only stare at him, his mind blank. Eventually, he got himself together again. He hesitated, before he began to speak, slowly. “I…think it’s…a very…difficult situation to think about. Much less…answer.” It was an easy answer. He hated Martin Whitly. He hated his guts. Not only for what he had done to those 23 families, but what he had done to his _own_, too. How he had hurt Malcolm and Jessica. How long it was taking them just to try and get over what he’d done. No…he hated Martin Whitly. But he couldn’t tell Malcolm that. Especially not when he was staring up at him so anxiously. _

_Malcolm glanced at the floor, like he was uncomfortable. “He wasn’t…he isn’t _all_ bad. He wasn’t bad to us. To me and mom and Ainsley— he loved us.” He looked up at him, his eyes rounding out a little more. “Does that mean anything?” Gil’s gut twisted with the question. “Does it mean anything that he was a good dad, if he…did all that stuff, too? Should I…am I supposed to forget all the other parts of him, now?”_

_Gil’s heart ached for this poor kid. Facing questions nobody should have to face, at such a young age. “I think…that these are questions that shouldn’t be asked after eleven pm,” he said eventually. Malcolm’s shoulders drooped. He felt horrible…but he really had no idea what else to say. Other than that his dad was a sick, lying, twisted son of a bitch that had almost killed him— what else was there to say? Obviously _not _that, though. He looked at Malcolm with all the sympathy in the world, offering him a little smile he knew wouldn’t go very far. When Malcolm still just stared, he asked instead: “Why do you ask?”_

_The little boy stared at him sorrowfully before he mumbled: “I’m trying to decide whether or not I’m supposed to hate him, too.”_

_Pain hit him like a brick to the stomach. A couple long moments of silence dragged by before he nodded his head a little. He walked over to him; Malcolm eyed him warily but he didn’t move away. And when Gil sighed and crouched down in front of him like he’d done that first night they’d met, he still remained right there. Gil smiled, reaching up and cupping the back of his neck fondly. It was the one thing the kid let him do, for some reason. He was usually averse to all forms of touch…save for Jackie, who he let hug him. But he let Gil do this._

_Gil gave a soft, quick squeeze of reassurance. “I think that if you have to think about whether or not you hate someone, then the answer is pretty clear.” Malcolm looked almost _frightened. _“But, I think that’s perfectly okay if you still love him.” The boy’s eyes widened a little in surprise, but Gil just smiled more, albeit sadly. “This whole thing has been…such a mess,” he sighed. “You need time to figure it all out, still…and that’s fine. That’s all anyone’s trying to do: figure it all out. You’re no exception.”_

_Malcolm looked torn. But after a while, he nodded._

_Gil softened. He pulled away, standing up and ruffling his hair, overjoyed at the tiny smile that wormed over Malcolm’s face when he did. “Why don’t you go off to bed?” he prompted. “It’s late.”_

_Malcolm smiled, turning away to do just that, when he stopped. He looked back, wilting a little. “You didn’t answer my question,” he reminded, just as Gil was about to head away, too. He stopped, turning back around. There was the ghost of a grimace on his face. Malcolm sensed it. “You do hate him,” he declared— not angrily, or sadly. He was just stating a fact. Gil could only stare at him, and that was answer enough. The boy nodded to himself, suddenly looking far older than he actually was. He paused, thinking, before he looked back up at Gil and dared to ask: “Do you…think I’m…like him?”_

_“What? No! Of course not!” Gil rushed. Malcolm nodded a little, still looking a little scared. “You’re nothing like him, Malcolm. You’re a— talented, kind, intelligent kid.” He grew more surprised, than anything else, at the rush of sentiments. Gil softened sadly. “You’re a _great _kid, Malcolm…you’re not like him at all.”_

_He sat with the sentiment for some time, as if he was mulling it over. Looking at it from every direction, as though he was trying to see whether or not there was a lie hiding somewhere in there. He came up empty, and after a while, that smile traced back over his lips again. “Thanks, Gil,” he murmured softly. Gil just nodded. The two stood in the kitchen, staring at one another for the longest time. Before, his expression giving away the gratitude he must have felt, Malcolm murmured: “Goodnight.”_

_He turned and walked away. Gil listened to his footsteps fade down the hall before they left entirely._

_He felt a strained mix of sorrow and warmth when he murmured after him: “Goodnight.”_

Gil was sitting on the sofa, his head in hands. He’d long since cried himself hoarse, but he was still trying to sob, as if he could get his voice to function again. He’d gone through an entire bottle of whiskey. He was starting his second one. He felt sick. But it wasn’t from the alcohol. It was from the memory of Malcolm hiding under that tarp, too dirty and bloody to recognize. It was from the memory of his hissing, terrified screams. It was the feeling he’d had, finally cradling him in his arms and knowing he recognized he was _safe_ for the first time. It was the sucker, that was now sitting on his coffee table, mocking him. It was the memory of Malcolm’s face, stricken and horrified and _betrayed _right before he’d passed out.

_That _was what was making him sick. _Not _the alcohol.

His kid…his kid, his _kid…_that was _his _kid that had gotten hurt. That was _his _kid that had been scared.

And that was _his _kid that had cried and begged them to stop— to _leave._

So close…he had been _so _close…

But he’d ruined it. It was all his fault. All of it.

He cringed, sobbing. All of it was just hoarse squeaks by now, though.

He shook his head. Hating himself. Wishing he could take it back.

As he reached out to pour himself _another_ glass.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Malcolm was laying on the ground; the only movement was the shallow, slightly fast rise and fall of his chest. His breathing was noisier than normal. In the beginning of the video, when he _had _moved, he’d been sluggish and slow. He was sick. It led him to fight less and less. When Winston had grabbed him and thrown him down to the ground, bleeding and burning with pain, he fell limp. He didn’t try to get up. Blood was trickling down his face, from his hairline. Slowly, Winston crouched down beside him. He grabbed his face in his hand as he turned his head so it was center, not fallen to one side.

Unlike before, he wasn’t smirking and gloating, when he looked down at him. Instead, he glared at him. He looked…on-edge. For some reason. Tense. Impatient. “Why are you still hanging on?” he growled, holding his face too tightly. Malcolm offered no response. “Why won’t you just _give up? _You have nothing left to fight for…you know nobody is waiting for you…not _anymore. _By now, they think you’re long dead and gone. So why don’t you just _stop?” _

Malcolm didn’t answer. He might have been unconscious.

He scowled even more at the silence. He reached out and dragged his hand hard across his forehead, right over the gash. He got blood all over his fingers, before shoving them into Malcolm’s mouth. Malcolm gagged weakly, his body twitching and going into spasms as he tried to force them out, unable to turn his head because it was still being held. Winston ignored him, just sticking his fingers down even further, watching Malcolm come out of his daze only to panic and retch more. “Pathetic,” he snarled, as he continued to struggle. “Disgusting…that’s all you are. Covered in blood…_laying _in your own _filth, _why don’t you just _give up?”_

He kept his fingers down his throat for a couple more dragging seconds. Before he snatched his hand back. The instant his fingers were gone, Malcolm was relaxing, gasping raggedly and gulping desperate after desperate breath. He still didn’t open his eyes. Winston let go of him and his head fell back to the side. He continued to rasp unevenly; Winston regarded him coolly when he wiped his fingers off on a part of Malcolm’s face that _wasn’t _covered in blood. He stood up, contempt and rage alight on his face. “You don’t _deserve _to continue living,” he snapped. “You aren’t that strong.”

A sob made one of Malcolm’s gasps cave in on itself. But that was it.

Letting those words hang in the air, Winston left. His footsteps faded away, until all there was, was silence. Malcolm laid still in it for ages. JT had to fast forward, assuming that he would just stay there like that until he came back, especially if he was sick on top of everything else. But he stopped short when he saw him move. He pressed play again, his eyes narrowing a little when he saw Malcolm start to try and roll. It was slow going. It pained JT, just to see how much he had to struggle, to twist onto his side.

Eventually, he rolled onto his side, and when he did, his eyes caught on the camera. He had no idea how; the light was already dim, and Malcolm’s eyes were hardly open in the first place. Maybe he was just looking in the direction he _knew _the camera would be. Looking like he was fit to be sick, Malcolm groggily moved his head, to look down at the floor. JT’s heart began to drop right along with his stomach, as he realized what was going to happen. He was putting the dots together and he was already hating the picture it was creating. He found himself straightening and shaking his head.

Malcolm, of course, had no idea. He was looking for something, and eventually, he found it. It wasn’t hard. The night of New Year’s Eve, Winston had drunk far too much— he remembered that video very clearly. He remembered how he’d started to choke on his own vomit until Malcolm had pushed him. The remnants of that night were still scattered around the floor. There had to be more than twelve empty beer bottles still there. There were even _more _than had been _shattered. _Winston had thrown some to the ground— he had smashed a majority of them over his head.

Glass shards were everywhere.

There was a particularly big one near him. Malcolm’s eyes rested on it for a long time, before he slowly reached out. JT shook his head again, as he watched him pick it up. His hand was almost too shaky to keep it in his grasp. But he managed it somehow. He grabbed it and pulled closer. It was too difficult to make out his expression, but he could hear his breathing breaking off into little sobs, the longer he stared at it. JT felt sick. He looked down at the notepad in front of him. At all the notes he had taken thus far.

His expression grew heavier. He wrote down another one.

‘DVD #782. January 24th, 5:06 pm. Suicide attempt.’

When he looked back up, Malcolm was crying harder. He pressed a finger against the tip, seeing how sharp it actually was. He stared at it for a couple more long, dragging minutes. JT could _see _his inner debate— how he was going back and forth. His eyes flickered back up to the camera. Tears were mixing with the blood running down his face. He stared there for even _longer. _JT had no idea what he was thinking— he knew he didn’t want to.

When he spoke up, his voice was filled with agony. Exhaustion. He was _tired. _Tired of suffering, tired of hanging on, tired of trying. Every attempt of his to break free had proved useless. He’d even called Gil, and still, he hadn’t been found. JT wished he could tell him that he was wrong for thinking this way…but he knew he had just a little under five months left to go. He couldn’t blame him. “…JT…” JT grimaced, already trying to brace himself for whatever it was he was about to say. But he figured that there was no way he could brace himself. Not _really._

Malcolm wiped his eyes on his arm. “…’m sorry…JT…” He closed his eyes tight, disappoint and despair folding itself across his expression. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, louder— more strained. “I…I _tried, _but…but I can’t do this anymore…” His body was beginning to shake with heavy sobs. “I can’t do this…I want it all to stop, I can’t do it anymore…I can’t last long enough…” The declaration was horrible. Because he _had _lasted long enough. Not even in the sense that he made it until they found him. Even _now, _he had lasted long enough. There shouldn’t be disappointment in his voice— in what he had accomplished, just by still being _alive. _Anyone else wouldn’t have gotten this far.

Hell, JT didn’t even think _he _would have made it this far, if it was him.

Bright was a fighter.

But not right now.

“Could you…” He gasped in hard, sniffing again. “Could you…tell them…something else?” he rasped, weakly. “Could you tell them…_he_ killed me? That…that this wasn’t the way I went? If they knew…” He trailed off, before he started over, even weaker. “Or…could you…at least…let my _family _think that…? So they don’t…” Again, he trailed off. His expression crowded with even more sorrow and misery. “No…I guess you can’t…it’ll come out…one way or another.” His lips shook as he turned the shard over in his hand. Eventually, he exhaled, tiny and sorrowful. “I’m sorry, JT…tell the rest of them that, too…that I’m so sorry…”

He kept staring. Debating. Hesitating.

A cynical smile tugged itself onto his face. “But…maybe I should say you’re welcome…at least now you won’t have any more videos to watch…though I _will _say, it’s _very _rude to let me die without knowing your name.” JT couldn’t even smile a little at the jab. He just watched sadly as Malcolm rolled back onto his back with a tiny huff, staring up at the ceiling as it grew darker and darker. He repeated himself one more time. “I’m sorry, JT…I _tried_…” His voice was just a tiny squeak. His words were back to being tearful and choked when he eventually whispered: “You might wanna stop watching, now…”

He wished he could. _God, _did he _wish _he could stop.

But he couldn’t. He sat and watched as Malcolm hiked up his left sleeve. And lined up the glass.

. . . . . . . . . .

January 25th. 7:10 am.

Malcolm was pale. Ghost-white. Laying in a pool of his own blood.

Winston came and saw the mess. At first, his eyes widened. JT saw that for a brief moment, happiness lit up his face. He was crumbling, JT realized. It had been eight months, and _still_, Malcolm had not died yet. He was running out of patience— he was beginning to wonder what he had to _do _to get him to die. He was taking less and less satisfaction in hurting him, out of the worry this actually wouldn’t go the way he wanted. The change was subtle, but he could tell, watching them one after the other like this. So when Winston saw the blood, and how still Malcolm was, putting the pieces together with the shard and all the jagged gashes now lining up and down his arms, he began to smile.

He began to feel _relieved. _

He walked closer, stooping over him. That was when he stiffened. JT saw it too: Malcolm was still breathing.

The instant he recognized it, Winston was flooded with rage. He leaned down, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and yanking him up. Malcolm didn’t rouse, at first. Winston scowled, and shook him hard. His head lolled and swayed, but eventually it got through to him. A small whimper died in his throat. Winston bared his teeth and shoved him down to the ground. His eyes cracked open. He looked muddled and disoriented. Winston stood up, so he could loom over him, scowling. _“Figures,” _he spat.

Malcolm’s forehead creased as he blinked slowly. He looked down at himself, groaning. His eyes went to his arms, and they widened just a fraction. His arms were covered in dark, scarlet blood. It had dried and clotted. You could barely see the gashes that were underneath. Surprise and confusion came slowly over his face. The noise that got out of him was just as befuddled. It just made Winston more enraged. He searched the floor before his eyes found the blood-soaked shard. He grabbed it, glowering at the makeshift knife before he turned back to Malcolm. “You couldn’t even _kill yourself _right,” he growled, throwing the glass down at him to smack him in the face with it.

Malcolm cringed. When the glass fell with a clatter, his arm twitched, like he was wanting to reach out for it again. But moving caused him too much pain. A wail of agony ripped itself out of him before he stopped short, falling still again, closing his eyes tightly and riding out the waves of pain and nausea as best he could. Winston kept scowling. He shook his head before he crouched again, grabbing the glass and shoving it into his chest, ignoring his weak squeak. _“Go on. Finish the job.”_

He couldn’t move. He just began to cry weakly.

Winston took the glass back, standing up again and glaring at him with enough hatred to burn him on the spot. “You’re _pathetic. _Too weak to finish what you started.” Malcolm cried harder, disappointment and pain hollowing every sob outward. That only got harder when Winston grabbing him up again and hissed in his face: “Then it looks like we can still have some more _fun_, today.” He threw him back down again, getting up and going to the bag he’d brought. Who knew what was in there.

When he hit the ground, he let his head fall slack. His eyes opened once more and they found the camera, again. The look on his face was enough to make it difficult to breathe. There was so much pain, so much heartache. So much exhaustion, that _still _was there. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. He could see everything Malcolm wanted to say, written on his face. In all that suffering.

JT cringed. Looked back down at his notes and added onto the last one.

A note that in itself, was unnecessary. And yet he felt the need to write.

‘…failed.’

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He was screaming. Again.

Jessica had barely begun to fall back asleep from the _last _time he had woken up screeching. She was just beginning to relax and retreat back into that numb relief of sleep, when she was snapping awake again, and _again, _shooting up into a sitting position. When she whirled around to her son’s bed and saw him twisting and heard his sobs, for a split moment, she couldn’t hold back her own. A horrible mix of frustration and sorrow gripped her when she realized; when her eyes found him, she let out a couple of sobs, herself.

She was _exhausted. _It was only two in the morning, and yet this was the _seventh _time her son had started having a nightmare. She couldn’t _bear _to hear him scream, anymore— he’d screamed so much tonight _alone_, that his voice was like sandpaper, scraping through his throat. It hadn’t even been an hour since he’d _last _started crying. For a moment, sitting on her makeshift bed she’d once again made on the ground, she was so overwhelmed that she hung her head and covered her face. Her shoulders started out shaking, and sobs began to wrench their way out of her throat. For just a handful of seconds, she cried right along with her son, purely because she had no idea what else she was supposed to do— how she was supposed to help him, when all her efforts so far weren’t working.

_All _she wanted to do, was break down and cry. She just wanted to sit there and sob and feel sorry for herself— for her son, for her daughter, for this _entire situation. _But she couldn’t. With every passing second, Malcolm’s screaming was just getting worse— growing in pitch, in terror. Even if it was only a couple of seconds, the changes were awful to listen to. She pushed herself up and ran to his bed— through the rut she had surely walked into the ground, with how many times she had done this.

She ran to his bed and knelt on the mattress. His face had already been sticky with tears, from when he’d last had a nightmare, not more than thirty minutes ago. Now, fresh ones were marking down his cheeks. He was sobbing and wailing— it like he was being murdered. Like he was being tortured…Jessica’s heart ripped when she realized he sounded that way because he _thought _he actually _was. _“Darling.” She tried to speak calmly. Her own voice was getting hoarse, and dry. Her lips shook, and she bent lower, holding to his face with one hand and smoothing over his forehead with the other as he kept trying to thrash. “Darling— sweetheart, wake up!” His back arched, like he was struggling to get up. _“Malcolm!” _she yelled in his face, feeling horrible but not knowing what else to do. “_Malcolm, you’re having a nightmare!”_

She could tell when he woke up, when his crying faltered. When she felt him tense underneath her, and his right arm jerked upward as if he wanted to shield himself, or smack her off. Immediately, she changed to hold both sides of his face, making her voice soft as down. “There you go…” His eyes snapped open; he looked at her with horror, impulse making him terrified at the idea of someone standing over him. But she could see the recognition in his bleary eyes. Looking at them, though, her heart ripped in half when she also had to look at the dark, bruise-like bags underneath them. He always had a little bit of fatigue, there. But never _this _bad.

It was staring at her in the face, repeating over and over: her son had never been this bad.

He’d just begun to start getting better. With everything that had happened, he was slipping. He’d misstepped, and now he was sliding down the hill he’d been struggling to claw his way up. She was stretching down as far as she could, begging for him to grab onto her hand, before he lost even _more _ground. But all her efforts were for nothing— he wasn’t trying to reach for her. He was just falling. Too scared to try and stop himself. To do anything but plummet.

His eyes were still bright with fear, but at least he wasn’t screaming anymore. Gasping in fast, he reached up and grabbed hard to her wrist with his trembling hand. She softened when he did— he usually reached out for her like this, as if he just wanted to be sure she was real. When she smiled, his expression began to crumble. She was expecting it— it was what always happened. She was going through the list she’d memorized of this process, and he was checking off every box.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart…you don’t need to cry.” He did anyway. She knew he would. And once he started sobbing, it just grew more severe. Harsh, body-wracking sobs shook him; she cringed, finding it almost as unbearable to listen to as the screaming. She hated it. She hated _all _of it. The screaming at night— the howling at the top of his lungs. The crying, the sobbing, the desperate wailing. The way when she touched him she could feel his bones. The fact that whenever she looked at him, even _if _he was alright for the time being, she felt like getting sick, because all she could fear was when he _wouldn’t be, _again.

She kept her eyes closed for a long moment. Eventually, she forced herself to breathe, her lungs suddenly deciding it was too difficult for them to work without conscious thought. She opened them again and looked sorrowfully down at her son as he continued to cry. It looked like he wanted to say something, but he was just crying too hard to do so. She weakened, trying to think of what she could do to help. She was at the end of her rope. She didn’t know.

After a couple more moments, she started to move. Without thinking, she shifted and crawled into the bed, too. She turned on her side, sliding one arm underneath his bony shoulders, and wrapping the other loosely around his waist. She drew him close, putting her head on top of his and doing what she had before— shushing gently against his skin. He kept crying, but now it was muffled into her shoulder. Using a feather-light touch, she slowly began to rub his back, even more tears springing into her eyes when she felt how prominent his spine was, against her palm.

“Shh…you’re okay…everything’s okay…” He continued to sob brokenly. When he moved, it was only to hug desperately to her with his one good arm. It made her flinch, how fast he clung to her, but she tried not to let her voice waver with the emotion that was shaking her. She just kept rubbing his back, holding him securely in her arms and hoping that when he did fall asleep mid-sob like he always did, that he would at least stay asleep for longer this time, if she stayed holding him like this.

Upstairs, Ainsley was wide awake. She’d been awake since eleven, just staring up at the ceiling and counting the number of time she heard her brother scream, just waiting in between every burst for the next one she knew was going to come. She wasn’t even jumping anymore, when he started— her only reaction was to grimace, feeling nothing but horrible despair. Now, she was just listening to him cry. She had to listen much _closer_, to hear him now, but he was crying loud enough to be heard, albeit faintly.

She imagined everything her mother was trying to do to calm him down again. Some part of her told her to go downstairs and try to help. But she knew she wouldn’t help— that she’d be just as lost as her mom was right now, and she’d just make it worse. She _wanted _to do something; she just couldn’t. She _knew _she couldn’t. So she laid there and listened, her stomach sinking. Her throat began to burn and so did her eyes; she closed them, but it did nothing.

Her expression still crumbled— she still began to cry right along with him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_What do I do now? What am I supposed to do?_

_You _can’t _do anything, _the voice replied instantly. _And this isn’t even an exaggeration— you _literally _cannot do _anything. _Isn’t that strange? That you’re home, and you’re ‘safe’…but you’re still stuck doing the _exact same thing _you did _there?_ Just…laying here? Crying? _I _think it’s strange. I think it’s _interesting.

_It’s not. Stop._

_It _is, _though; you just don’t want to admit it. You spent _so long…_just _wishing _you could get back home— wishing to be right where you are right this second. And for what? You’re doing the same exact thing. You’re just laying here. Can’t get up. In pain. And even though you’re not _technically _alone, doesn’t it _feel _like you are? Nobody else understands. The ones that do_, _well, you know what _they’re_ like. I don’t have to remind you about that. So think about it. You’re alone. You’re in pain. All you can do is _lay _here…it’s like you’re still there. Still trapped. _The voice stayed pleasant, and happy.

_I’m not…trapped, I’m— …trapped, I feel like I’m trapped…_

_Because you _are, it returned. _You’re trapped. Don’t you feel it? The suffocation…the weight on your lungs? The way it feels like you wanna scream? The way you want to tear your own skin off? It’s the same feeling you had when you were there. You thought it would be better, but it’s _not. _You know what that means? _It didn’t wait for him to try and come to his own conclusion. _It means there _is _no way out. It means this is how you’re going to feel every single moment of every single day from now. You were _right _when you told Gabrielle you’re not you anymore. Your home isn’t your home anymore, either. Nothing feels right. Because nothing can ever be right again._

_I want it to be the same, I want to be home, I want to be happy I’m _home…

_You can’t. Because everything is ruined, now. _A pause, like they were waiting for him to argue, but he didn’t. So they went on. _And just think about it— nothing _else _is going to be the same, either. Even if you somehow recover – which you’re _not, _by the way, with the rate this is going – they’ll _never_ let you back on the team. You were already a burden before, and they don’t have time for babysitting. Just imagine the _field day _the press is gonna wanna have with you, too. ‘Malcolm Whitly, Son of The Surgeon, Kidnapped and Tortured for A Year Attempts To Return To Work, Has Breakdown Five Minutes In.’_

_That’s not right._

_Yeah, I know, the title needs work, doesn’t it?_

No…_it’s _Bright. _I’m Malcolm Bright. _

_Are you, though? _the voice asked.

Silence.

It pressed again, as if it was genuinely curious.

_Well?_ Are_ you? _

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Her name was Kristen. She’d reassured them about twelve times they could call her Kristie, but they were still just calling her Kristen. She had short blonde hair and bright green eyes. She was accompanied with _another _physical therapist— apparently, he was such a train wreck, they needed _more_ than one. She was a little older. _Her _name was Erin. Between the two of them, it was a vain hope that they could get something accomplished with him— they could get some sort of progress actually made.

They’d introduced themselves and gone through the spiel— reassuring him over and over they were going to go slow and he was just supposed to take his time. “We’ll take however long you need to, there is _no _need to rush,” Kristen had reassured, her tone overly sweet just like her expression was. Ainsley and Jessica seemed to appreciate the added heap of sugar. Malcolm just thought it was patronizing. “We’re going to go at your pace, Malcolm,” she’d promised. “And we’re going to stop once the pain gets to be too much. Does that sound like a plan?”

She’d asked it like he was five, and scared of getting a vaccination.

_Not _as if he was so weak and malnourished, that all they were going to try and do for today was get him to _sit up _on his own.

“Alright, Malcolm,” Erin said, wearing that kind smile that made him want to tear out his own eyeballs, just so he wouldn’t have to see it anymore. “Here’s what you’re going to do. It’s going to be a little harder with your broken arm, but for now we’re gonna help you a little bit. We mostly want _you _to do all the heavy lifting to start rebuilding those abdominal muscles, but for now, we’re gonna support you.” He just stared at her dismally. Jessica and Ainsley were standing a few feet behind her, watching with anxiety.

She wasn’t fazed by his silence. She just patted the siderail of the bed, remaining bright. “You’re gonna grab _this _with your right arm, and you’re gonna get as much onto your side as possible, alright? You’re gonna log-roll through it, we don’t want you twisting. So you’re gonna go all at once, trying not to twist. Once you get on your side, that’s gonna be the hard part. You gotta do your best to push yourself up, from there. Then you’ll be dangling on the edge of the bed, and we’re gonna try and hold that position for as long as we can, okay?” Her eyes turned more sympathetic. “It’s going to be hard and it’s going to hurt at first, but the more you try to do this, the easier it’ll be. It’ll just take practice.”

Still, he was mute.

She patted the siderail again, taking to silence, too.

Slowly, he looked at it. His eyes flashed, and the ghost of a grimace began to crawl over his face. But all the same, he reached out and grabbed it. Every pair of eyes in the room was on him, and he hated the fact. It was so silent, and the tension could be cut with a knife. He didn’t _want _them to watch. He didn’t want them to see him fail. But he couldn’t very well _say _anything. He hesitated, taking in a couple of slow breaths. Before, already screwing his eyes shut tightly, he gripped the railing harder and started to tug.

It felt like he weighed a million pounds. He pulled and strained, staring desperately at his arm— stick-thin, just bones, and no muscle. He knew he could pull himself, at least— that’s how he’d hurt his head. But turning so that his entire body could move at once was a much taller order. He grimaced, a small noise akin to a sob choking its way out of his mouth as he tried again. This time, he curled his shoulder a little, and he got it a couple of inches off the mattress. But then everything was falling out from under him again, and he let go of the railing. He fell onto his back again, breathing unevenly and shaking. He was breaking out into a cold sweat. His body felt like it was on fire.

Kristen ignored the obvious distress on his face. “That was such a good first try, Malcolm!” He closed his eyes tightly, his lips pressing together even more so. “Go on, try it again! You’re getting there!”

At first, he didn’t. He wanted to snap at her that he didn’t _want _to. But he knew she wouldn’t listen. Trying to hold back the whimper that was fighting to get out, Malcolm reached back over to the rail and tried again. Jessica and Ainsley watched with their hearts in their throats as they watched him try and fail multiple times just to turn on his side. His hand got shakier and shakier, gripping onto the rail, with every failed attempt. He had so little strength to begin with— the more he tried, the more he exerted himself, and the weaker the attempts grew. They could see the frustration building on his face, right alongside his desperation. It wasn’t possible to tell which was more cutting.

He tried again and again, both Kristen _and _Erin doing their best to talk him through it. But by the time two minutes of this trying and failing went by, Malcolm was exhausted both physically and mentally. He fell back onto the mattress, gasping harder and higher-pitched, now. He was shaking from head to toe, his cold sweat only more apparent. When he managed to open them, his eyes went to Jessica; the instant they did, her heart was coming to a dead standstill. Though he said nothing, the look on his face was enough— he was begging her to help him. To make this _stop. _

Her eyes began to burn, when they locked with her son’s. She couldn’t look away.

Erin was soft with sympathy. “That’s alright, Malcolm.” He was still staring imploringly at his mother. “Here…you try it again, and this time, we’ll help you. We’ll grab your shoulders and pull you up. That way you don’t have to do it all by yourself.” He waited, hanging onto the hope Jessica might actually interject. But when she just stared at him in silence, heartbroken, he knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere. He looked back at Erin, fighting the urge not to break down when he saw her expectant look trained on him. He breathed heavily a couple more times, struggling to get his wind back. Hesitantly, he forced himself to reach over for the rail again. He tugged hard, cringing with the effort.

This time, they helped. Kristen grabbed from the back and Erin grabbed from the front, and together they eased him first onto his side, and then up into a sitting position. They went slowly, but Jessica’s heart still shattered when her son cried out, sobbing and trying to stutter our for them to wait. They didn’t— they got him up in one fluid motion. He was trembling and gasping, grabbing onto Erin’s arm blindly, he was so woozy and scared of falling.

They were going their best to encourage him. “There!” Erin cried. “You did it, you sat up!”

“Way to go, Malcolm!” Kristen joined in.

Ainsley looked away, feeling sick.

Malcolm gasped unevenly and raggedly; his words were nothing but wheezes when he forced them out. “C’n I…lay b’ck down?” He was shaking— horrible pain was gripping him tight around the middle, sinking its claws hard into his skin. He could hardly breathe— he could _breathe! _His voice spiked with agony and panic. “C’n I lay b’ck down please let me— le’me—” He broke off into a tiny wail of pain. His shaking was only making it worse, but he couldn’t stop.

“Let’s try and sit up for a little bit longer, Malcolm,” Erin offered.

He _gagged _on the pain that was swamping him. He clung to her tighter, terrified of falling and also begging her to listen, at the same time. “Please!” Tears were streaming down Jessica’s face, by now. “Please, le’me— _please, please, it hurts!” _he started wailing. Every sob that shook him was just another bolt of pain, but he didn’t care. It felt like his body was being burned from the inside, out. Sitting up was putting new pressure on injuries he hadn’t even realized existed in the first place. _“Please, I don’t want to do this— I can’t do this, please just let me lay back down, please!”_

They looked like they were _still _going to resist. Jessica tore it, rushing forward and scowling daggers at them. “Let him lay back down!” she snapped, the ferocity in her tone snapping them both to attention. Very quickly, they complied, still maneuvering him by the shoulders. They let him down gingerly and carefully, as to not hurt him even more. He was shaking so hard it looked like he was convulsing— his hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat. He was gasping as though he’d just ran an entire marathon in less than an hour. He closed his eyes, screwing them up against the agony ramming into him with every hitched breath.

Jessica rushed to her son, guilt a chokehold around her throat. “I’m sorry, sweetheart— I’m so sorry!” she gasped, reaching down and holding his face in her hands. He was crying, now. It was awful to hear every sob he let loose— how saturated they were with sorrow, pain, and disappointment alike. She held him carefully, like he was made of glass, and when he felt the gentle touch it just made him cry harder. Jessica cringed, as though she was sharing his physical pain. She certainly _wished _she could take some of the burden from him. Without a doubt, if she had the chance, she would take it in a heartbeat. “I’m so sorry, darling— but you did so _well!” _she tried to gush, despite how sorrowful her voice stayed. “It’s over now, now you can rest, you—”

“I can’t…even _sit up_,” he cried, cutting her off. His sobs grew even louder.

Ainsley closed her eyes and ducked her head. Flinching away from the declaration.

“No…no, darling, you _did,” _Jessica argued. “You _did _sit up! They— they told you it was going to take some _time, _and some _practice, _but darling, you _did _sit up!”

He kept crying, just shaking his head. “I can’t even sit up…” he repeated, more miserably.

Her heart twisted. She had no idea what to say, but eventually, she picked something at random. Something she hoped he needed to hear, and would _reach _him. “Darling…I am _so _proud of you,” she murmured. “I am _so proud of you, for fighting, Malcolm, I am. _You’re still fighting so hard, and I want you to know that you don’t have to worry about—”

“I wish I hadn’t fought…” he whispered brokenly, between his crying.

She stilled, confusion settling over her. She stared at him, a horrible feeling coiling in her stomach. All the same, she eventually brought herself to ask: “What?”

She almost wished he would ignore her. But he didn’t. He repeated himself, louder this time, and much more upset. “I wish I hadn’t fought!” Her face fell; she found herself shaking her head, begging him not to continue— to not _mean _this. But she knew he did. She could _tell_ he did, in the way he sobbed emptily. In the way his expression was twisted with grief and sorrow and everything in between. In how he wasn’t shrugging her off, because he didn’t see a point.

In the yawning regret that saturated his sobs when he cried: “I wish I _hadn’t _fought, I wish I’d died!”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

All day, he’d been staring. He didn’t react to anyone when they spoke to them, or even when they waved their hand in front of his face. He was catatonic, just staring straight ahead, like he was watching something they couldn’t see. Between the two of them, Jessica and Ainsley must have tried to get his attention at least a hundred times. Each and every time had been a failure. He was staying like that, and they would have been concerned, had Gabrielle not come and seen him and told them that it was probably fine, for now. She _knew _Malcolm, so she had seen this with him, before.

“When Malcolm gets overwhelmed he regresses,” she’d explained. “He’s had the habit ever since he was little— when he refused to speak for months on end. This isn’t him relapsing in terms of healing – I doubt this will stem into him going back to the way it was when he was in the hospital. This could just be him coming to terms with everything…it might be a very good thing— him taking this well-needed ‘time-out’ almost.” She’d smiled at them, despite their confused and worried looks. She’d added this next part a little softer: “Besides…you have to remember…Malcolm is most likely far more accustomed to the way things have been in his time away than he is with how they used to be. He most likely spent entire days in a state of disassociation. It might be habit for him, by this point.”

_That _broke Jessica’s heart. She sat in the chair she always did, staring at her son and feeling her heart slowly tear itself into littler and littler pieces, like it was a piece of paper a bored student was ripping up. Malcolm’s head was slack, towards her, but his stare was vacant. She’d tried multiple times to get him to rouse – even if it was just to glance in her general direction – but nothing had ever worked. She’d given up, just sitting there with him in silence. Staring at her son and picturing him spending days on end like this— disconnected from reality, just because it was easier than facing what was actually there.

She looked down at his arm— at his hand, laying upturned on the bed.

Ever so slowly and gently, she reached out for him. She took her time, putting her hand on top of his so she wouldn’t scare him. Sure enough, he didn’t so much as blink. She wilted, holding his hand just the tiniest bit tighter, so she could brush her thumb along the back of it. He didn’t even hold back to her. Tears sprung into her eyes as she looked at his dead, numbed expression. She spoke, but only in a croaking whisper. “You’re okay…” Hoping that wherever his mind was right now, it could connect to him. “Everything’s okay…you’re safe…I’ve got you…”

He didn’t react. He stayed far away. Out of her reach. That was okay.

She stayed right where she was, holding his hand.

Sitting faithfully at her son’s bedside. Fulfilling her promise to Gabrielle and not letting him out of her sight…but more importantly, fulfilling the promise she’d made to her son, and refusing to leave him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Louisa stuck her head inside the study. She seemed worried. Her voice was almost apologetic when she murmured: “Mrs. Whitly, there’s someone at the door for you…” Jessica perked, looking up from her son. He had finally managed to fall asleep. He was turned more onto his side, practically buried in pillows, she had fought to make him so comfortable. He was warm underneath three blankets, and for the last hour she had sat with him and had drawn her fingers lightly through his hair. It had helped calm him down and got him to sleep…that, coupled with the sound of the rain, outside. She was still sitting beside him, still pulling through his hair, as though she was worried if she stopped, he might wake up again.

“Tell them to come back later,” she whispered.

She started to turn back to Malcolm, softening again and reaching out to pull through his hair once more, when Louisa spoke again, awkward and uncomfortable. “I…did…he won’t leave…”

She looked back, confused and irritated. She glanced between her and Malcolm for a couple heartbeats before, letting her hand linger regretfully on her son, she stood and started out the door. “Stay with him, please; I’ll be right back.” Louisa nodded immediately, taking over watch of him as she went down the hall. Already, she was seething. There was nothing on planet Earth right now that meant more to her than her son— this person was insignificant, and yet they certainly _thought_ they were important, refusing to leave her doorstep. She was wondering who it would be, knowing the only way she wouldn’t be cross with them was if it was Malcolm’s doctor, coming to check on him. Though she was sure if that was the case, Louisa would have brought him in.

No. When she got to the door and opened it again, it wasn’t the doctor.

It took a couple moments for her to find his name, again.

It took even _more _to find the will to speak around the rage that was choking her at the mere sight.

“You…” JT stood outside in the rain. He didn’t have an umbrella— it had just started pouring a short while ago. He was soaking wet and yet he just stared at her intently. She scowled, anger bubbling to life in her blood as she looked at this man that had set him back so many paces. Her hands fisted tightly at her sides. “Of all the nerve…” she hissed. His eyes flashed, and he opened his mouth, but she wasn’t done. “How _dare _you come here. How dare you stand on my doorstep, after what you did.”

“Mrs. Whitly…” he began, his voice low. “I…_know _I’m not your favorite person right now, but—”

She scoffed out loud, hardly believing what she was hearing.

He hesitated, before he tried to go on. “But…I _need…_to talk to Malcolm.”

_This, _she didn’t laugh at. Immediately, she was glowering at him, fierce protection burning through her and practically ripping her breath right out of her lungs. “You will do no such thing,” she snapped. “You will not come _near _my son again— do you have _any _idea the _state _you’ve _reduced him to!? _What he’s _like _now, because of _you!? _You and Gil!?” Her eyes were beginning to burn with all the rage she felt as she glowered at him. “My son was _healing, _he was _happy, _and then _you two _come in and talk about those _videos, _and now it’s dragging all sorts of things up, for him!” JT stiffened. “He’s— _remembering _things but refusing to talk about them— just letting himself _break down _because of them, and he won’t talk to me, he just— let’s himself…” She trailed off, before she remembered herself and glared at him again. “No,” she spat. “No, you will not come near my son.”

She started to shut the door. He quickly put out a foot, to stop it. “Mrs. Whitly, _please. _I _need _to speak to him. Otherwise, this is just going to—”

“I said _no,” _she growled. “Now, _get off my property.”_

“No.” The reply came fast. It disarmed her, how quickly the refusal was given. He looked remorseful but at the same time he was also firm. “No, I won’t leave,” he continued. “I’ll…stay out here. For as long as it takes for you to realize I _need _to talk to Malcolm.” She eyed him. “It doesn’t even have to be for long— I just _need _to talk with him.” She said nothing. He searched her face before he took his foot away from the door again. He repeated himself, quieter: “I won’t leave until I get to speak with him.”

She glanced behind him, to the awful weather. “It’s raining,” she pointed out blandly.

He just shook his head. “I’m not leaving from these stairs,” he insisted.

She looked him up and down, her eyes narrowing even more.

He remained still, tense against the wet and cold, but refusing to move for shelter.

For a long couple of moments, it was silent, as she regarded him.

He began to hope she would change her mind.

No sooner did he consider this, did she slam the door in his face.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“Wow.” He turned quick, but despair was fast to squash his small twinge of hope when he saw that it was Ainsley standing in the doorway, and not Jessica. Her eyes flashed; she tilted her head to the side. “Try not to look so disappointed.” The sentiment wasn’t really appreciated. But still, he just stared at her. Now that the defeat was ebbing away, all his exhaustion was coming back instead. She glanced at her watch. Her eyebrows rose. “I can’t believe you’re still out here.”

It was going on eight. He’d been out here since twelve.

It was still raining.

He was freezing and soaking wet, but he just returned: “I’m not leaving until I can see him.”

She leaned on the doorframe, narrowing her eyes a little. “And tell him what?” she asked, her voice a little barbed. He didn’t answer. “What are you gonna tell my brother that would possibly make it better? I know _you _didn’t have a choice, when it came to watching the videos. But I _know _Gil did. And I know that if you were watching the DVDs, then it was _your _job to make sure nobody else could get to them.” He couldn’t say anything to that. She was absolutely right, and she knew it.

Her voice came out a little stiffer. “My brother suffered for…_more _than a year. I have no idea what happened to him. I can make my guesses…and I’d probably be pretty close…but I don’t _want _to. I don’t want to know. Not only because I couldn’t stomach it, but because I know _he _wouldn’t want me to know.” She searched his face, looking frustrated and almost lost. “I don’t know why Gil didn’t understand that. But…think if it was _you. _Gone all that time…having _so much _happen to you. Awful…horrible things…and then you come back and you _know _that everyone else knows? How else was he supposed to react?” She paused, before she pressed: “Would _you _wanna talk to the person that watched those videos of you?”

JT took his time answering. His voice was almost too soft to hear, under all the rain. “But it happened.” She did a double-take at the three words, her hostility spiking at the implication he would dismiss her brother’s feelings. But he was going on. “We all wish it hadn’t. But it did. We wish he wasn’t kidnapped, but he was. _I _wish I didn’t have to watch those DVDs, but I had to. I _really _wish…Gil hadn’t broken into the evidence— but he _did.” _He looked at her for a long moment, before he shook his head. “We _all_ wish that none of this had happened, Ainsley. But it _did_. So now we have to find a way _around _it. Unless we want to be _stuck _in everything that happened.”

She stared at him for a long couple of moments. Saying nothing.

She glanced down at the ground, chewing on her lower lip, before she looked back up.

“Well. _I _can’t let you in.” He deflated. “Mom’s currently on a tirade.” She hesitated, before she brought something out from behind her back. She tossed it to him, and he caught it. He looked down in surprise at the umbrella. He looked back at her and she smirked sadly. “I’ll put in a good word for you, though,” she tacked on. He didn’t say anything, but he managed a tiny nod. She nodded right back, her eyes lingering on him before she turned and went back inside. The door shut once again. He sighed, turning back around. He knew he couldn’t stay for much longer, realistically. He had to get back home. He would call Tally, soon. Once she knew how he’d spent his entire day, she was going to tell him how stupid he was.

But he told himself he’d wait a little bit longer.

Malcolm deserved that much.

Or at least that’s what he told himself, as he opened the umbrella and sat back down on the wet stoop.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She woke him up by running her fingers gently up and down the side of his face. It was the best way to wake him up, she’d found— though she _hated _disturbing what little sleep he managed to get. Anything else and he reacted badly. This was gentle, and soft, and it reassured him even before he opened his eyes, that he was safe and being taken care of. Her heart tore when she saw his eyes struggle to open. They were murky, and foggy with sleep. When he got them open, it took a while for actual light to come back into them and for him to look at her and realize who she was. “Hello, darling…” she breathed, guilt gripping her tightly. He blinked, slowly dragging himself back into awareness. It was difficult for him.

She knew it was only about to get _more _difficult.

“Darling…are you awake?” He mumbled a little, hardly audible. Jessica grimaced. “Honey…your friend is here…he wants to talk to you…” He mumbled again, but this time it was more confused. His eyes opened and they started to flicker around the room. They found the target of her words, and he immediately stiffened. He looked back at her quickly, like he was going to ask her for help. “You _don’t _have to talk to him, if you don’t want to.” JT bit back on a flash of desperation. He forced himself to stay silent and still, behind her. “I can tell him to leave, if you want.”

Malcolm opened his mouth. JT’s stomach sank, when he saw the agreement already on his face.

But Ainsley spoke up before he could. “He’s been standing outside all day, Mal.” All three of them looked over at her. Jessica shot her a glare, but she wasn’t looking at her. She was just looking at her brother. “Whatever it is he has to talk to you about…it must be pretty important.” He looked at her in confusion. She wilted a little, mostly with sympathy. “I think you should give him a chance…just for a second.” The way she said this was apologetic, as if she already knew how much he _didn’t _want to do that.

Malcolm looked at her for a couple more seconds, before slowly, reluctantly, he looked over at JT. There was nothing but sorrow and discomfort on his face. JT’s stomach was already twisting, when he saw that shame crawling back to him. He was silent for what seemed like forever. He already saw his hands shaking. He grimaced a little, and hesitated, not even sure if it was wise for him to interject. But JT caved and tried anyway, his voice anything but the confident and cool it usually was. He could tell Malcolm noticed the fact. He could tell that it wasn’t helping anything. “Malcolm…I just…want to talk. It doesn’t have to be for long, I just…think it’s important. That I say a couple things.”

Malcolm searched his face, his discomfort only growing.

JT was fully anticipating a rejection. He was braced for it.

So his expression turned just as stricken as Malcolm’s when he rasped: “…Okay.” JT and Jessica both jerked in their surprise. Ainsley, on the other hand, looked relieved— almost proud, even. Malcolm himself looked surprised by his response. He laid there for a couple seconds, trying to figure out _why _he’d said yes, or what was supposed to happen, now. JT himself was also kind of wondering about that, despite the fact he’d had all day to think about what he was going to say. He wasn’t sure. To his relief, Malcolm spoke first. His voice was quiet and tense. “You two can…leave.” The last word stuck.

Jessica’s surprise doubled. “You…we don’t _have _to go, if you—”

“No, I— I want you to go,” he stuttered out, staring down fixedly at his blankets. He looked uncomfortable. His hands were clenched tight, and everything on his face was practically screaming for them to do the exact opposite— to stay here with him and not leave, no matter what they did. Despite that, though, he was staying firm. “Just…” He grimaced, ducking his head a little more. “Just…go. Please. For right now.” Understanding dawned over Ainsley, first. Whatever this was, he didn’t want them to hear. It was bad enough that JT knew; if they were added to the mix, it would make everything ten times as worse.

She grabbed her mother’s wrist. Jessica fixed her with an indignant look, but Ainsley just shook her head. She pulled her back, away from Malcolm. She glanced back at him one more time, before she relented. “Alright…we’ll be right outside.” Malcolm just kept staring down with clear discomfort.

She turned and started for the door, but paused just long enough to throw a cutting scowl over in JT’s direction. If looks could kill, he would drop dead right there. There was _everything_ in that stare, including all the threats she was making to the calm life he currently led, for she could surely destroy it without even getting up from her couch. ‘All I would need is a phone and five minutes— your world is going to come crumbling down,’ she warned silently. It was so scathing, frankly, Ainsley had no idea how in the world he was able to hold her gaze. But somehow, he did.

The two left. Jessica lingered by the door, as if she wanted to stay right there, and listen in. Ainsley caught it when she saw her brother’s eyes flicker up, though, and she caught his spike of distress at the idea. She grabbed her wrist again, and tugged. This time it looked like she _was _going to argue, but Ainsley was shooting her her _own _look, before she had the chance. She must have learned a little bit from her mom,; when she fixed her with it, the fight died on her tongue. Ainsley pulled, and she got her at least down at the other end of the hall. From there, her mother wrenched her hand away and stood tensely, staring down at Malcolm’s door. Ainsley didn’t fight. She stood beside her, just as apprehensive. Ready to dash back if she was needed, just like her mother was.

When the two left and closed the door behind them, the room was plunged into tense silence. Malcolm was back to staring down at his quilt, his expression worn and pinched. JT looked back at him, and a bit of sorrow cracked its way onto his face. Malcolm’s eyes dashed to him quickly, and just as quickly, he wiped his expression clean, so he wouldn’t see the flash of emotion. He could see the unease on Malcolm’s face only growing. He had to figure out a way to start. But to his surprise, Malcolm spoke first.

His voice was just a mumble. Barely anything. “You’re dripping.”

JT looked down at himself. He _was. _He’d gotten so used to feeling wet, he was blocking it out, now. “It’s raining,” he said eventually, after yet another pause. Malcolm glanced at him again, looking him up and down. He went on, slowly, like he was walking across a minefield. It was practically the same thing. “And…your mom doesn’t seem to like me.” He said this the tiniest bit lighter. But it also wasn’t an exaggeration. If anything, it was an understatement.

Malcolm didn’t smile. But he _did _mutter back: “Yeah…she hates a lot of people…” He stared off to the side. His voice was soft and empty when he tacked on: “Usually I’m the focus of a least _some_ of that irritation…now it’s got nowhere else to go.” He said it like he wasn’t actually listening to what he was saying. Like he was absent from the conversation. Maybe separating himself like that was making it easier for him to talk— maybe it was the _only _reason he was able to talk. Because his voice was just as hollow and he continued to stare anywhere else _but_ him when he said: “You do it, too…”

JT’s stomach dropped slowly. He’d known it was coming, and yet now that it was, he was faltering just a little. Struggling to brace himself for everything he’d foreseen coming, to try and have a good handle on the conversation, no matter where it might go. He took in a slow breath. “What do I do?”

“Treat me different,” Malcolm whispered, still refusing to look at him. JT’s mouth went dry. Malcolm stared searchingly into nothing at all, as he murmured, “Look at me different…”

JT stuffed his hands into his wet pockets. He kept his voice in check, but there _was _a level of almost sternness to it, now. Silently asking him to listen— to _really…_listen. “You were gone a long time, Malcolm.” Malcolm didn’t look at him, but his shoulders did hunch a little. “You had everyone worried…looking for you— missing you. Of course she looks at you differently. Of course _everyone _does. For a while, there, we thought you weren’t going to make it back to us at all.” Malcolm didn’t react. He raised his eyebrows and prompted: “Can you blame us? For looking at you differently because we’re happy just to _see _you?”

Almost before he could finish talking, Malcolm was interjected with a fast, hushed: “That’s not the reason you look at me differently.” That was all he said. But it was all he _needed _to say.

Again, he saw it coming, but it hit him like a ton of bricks. JT was glad Malcolm couldn’t look at him— this time, he was much less quick to wipe the pain off his face. He didn’t mean to let the silence stretch as long as it did, and yet it was ages of him wracking his brain for what to say. He’d spent all night practically, coaching himself, and yet now his tongue was tied. For now. He was doing his best to kickstart it back into gear. Eventually, he took a deep breath and just took the plunge. “Alright.” His voice was a bit louder. Tougher. Malcolm’s eyebrows knitted together a little with the tone change but he still didn’t look at him. He didn’t look when JT drew up a chair, either. “Let’s just get it out in the open, then,” he reasoned.

Malcolm pressed his lips tighter together. His right hand fisted in the blankets.

JT glanced at the ground, sticking his tongue hard into his cheek. He looked back up at him, though, knowing that even if he wasn’t meeting his gaze, Malcolm deserved to have at least the _attempt_ of eye contact. “After we got you to the hospital and knew you were gonna be taken care of, I left to continue with the investigation…Dani and Gil stayed at the hospital, with you while you were in surgery. We went to Winston’s house, and found hidden away in a crawlspace…_hundreds _of DVDs. All labeled with names. Most of them were yours.” He said this all steadily. Malcolm’s eyes were quickly tearing up.

“It was evidence. And it was protocol that _someone _had to go through it. Or…as much as they could, anyway.” There were _far _too many to sit through and watch every single one. Already, with the way he was skipping around and fast-forwarding, it was too much for his stomach, which was saying something. JT straightened a little, looking at him more thoughtfully. “But you remembered on your own,” he reminded. Malcolm’s eyes flashed. He held onto the blanket a little tighter. “So how much do you remember?”

Malcolm’s discomfort was growing. It was nearing a tipping point— JT could see.

He tried to reel it back before it got that far. Jessica would kill him. And this kid deserved a break. “’Cause I’ve made _sure _that I was the one who would watch them all…because it’s what _you _asked me to do.” He tried to see whether or not it was surprise or confusion on Malcolm’s face, or if it was something else. Whatever it was, he couldn’t land it. It was just out of reach. But when he blinked, a tear did roll down the side of his face. He quickly wiped it away. JT didn’t even notice, really. He was desensitized.

“In one of the early videos, you asked me to make sure nobody else saw them,” he reminded, certain somehow, that Malcolm did not need any reminding. “So that’s what I’ve tried to do. I _know,” _he rushed on before Malcolm could snap it out, “that I messed up…on Gil’s end. I’m sorry. Really.” Malcolm glanced at him, swallowing hard at his contrite look. “I don’t know what all Gil saw…he should have known better, but _I _should’ve, too. I’m sorry about that, Malcolm. I am.”

He glared a little, at the wall across from him. It took him a long time to speak. His voice was so quiet and choked that JT had trouble hearing him, just from a couple feet away. “What all did you see?” he breathed, looking as though he was already flinching away from whatever answer was waiting for him.

JT could see it on the kid’s face— he was going through each and every thing, from most horrible to least, that he remembered, anyway. All the beatings, all the abuse, all the suffering— he was flying through it. Already playing a game of give-and-take as for which moments he would be alright with him seeing and which ones he would be absolutely horrified over. JT’s chest constricted. _Too much, _was the answer he really wanted to give. He bit _that_ back. But the actual response he gave was about a million times harder to get out. “I…saw all of it.” Not in the technical sense. But in the sense that mattered, he had.

Malcolm cringed as if he’d smacked him. When his eyes opened again they were much more desperate. More tears streamed down his face he tried desperately to wipe away. His hand was shaking like a leaf. His breathing was beginning to pick up. His panic was spiking. “And— you— now— and _Gil—_” He flinched again. His voice dropped into a low, trembling whisper. “I _knew, _but I wasn’t— I wasn’t supposed to _live, _I wasn’t supposed to— still _be _here and have you watch it!” There was nothing but misery on his face. A year of suffering, only to get to this moment… “I was supposed to _die, _there, I— I wasn’t supposed to still be here when you—” He sighed out hard, unable to finish. His lips were trembling violently.

“Bright, hey. Calm down, man, look at me.” He didn’t. JT spoke anyway. “Bright, this doesn’t _change _anything, it was protocol—”

_“Don’t say it doesn’t change anything!” _Malcolm suddenly yelled, whipping his head back around to glower at him. His glare was tearful and weak. His breathing was only getting more unsteady. He actually stayed looking at him, this time. He was so angry at the inclination, it was keeping him there, for right now. JT fought to keep his face neutral. _“Don’t _say it doesn’t change anything because it _does! _When you’ve— _seen _what— _how are you supposed to still look at me!? _Gil couldn’t even _look at me, all he saw was whatever he’d watched on those _stupid _DVDs!”_

“Gil is _closer,” _he returned slowly. “You know what he always says about being too close to a case— this is _why. _He didn’t take his own advice. He—”

_“None of that matters!” _Malcolm snapped. “I don’t care! I don’t _care, _all I care about was that he couldn’t _look at me!” _His lips shook more. Sorrow and desolation so deep you could drown in it was hollowing out his crying. “He couldn’t _look at me!” _He sounded heartbroken. JT’s expression fractured with pain. “He couldn’t look at me and I don’t blame him, and I don’t blame _you, _but it’s— just— what am I supposed to…?”

JT’s voice was straightforward. “I can look at you, Malcolm.”

“No you _can’t!” _he cried. “Not without just seeing what was on those DVDs!”

The only sound for a while was Malcolm’s ragged gasps and sniffs, as JT thought.

Eventually, he found his voice again. “You wanna know what I see when I look at you?” JT asked. Malcolm lifted his head, sniffing again. JT was staring right at him, not even blinking. Malcolm’s stomach flipped but he just waited. Sure enough, it came. Steadily, without question. “When I look at you I see the…annoying, self-absorbed, risk-taking asshole that I didn’t want _anywhere _near me when I first met him.” Malcolm’s eyes flashed. His face started to fall, in confusion. “I see the guy that _forced _his way onto a double-date with me and my wife, _despite_ having the pool-playing skills of a two-year-old.

“I see the guy that stayed up three days straight when we first had this case, trying to figure out who was behind it because he didn’t want another victim to die.” Malcolm’s shoulders slackened. His breathing began to even out as he stared at JT, mostly in confusion. “And, yeah…I see the DVDs when I look at you,” he relented. Malcolm’s eyes welled up with a fresh wave of tears. JT was clenching his hands hard in front of him, to try and keep his own from following the same way. “But _I _see…the guy that _survived _those DVDs. I don’t see them because I pity you. But because _no other person _had it in themselves to survive past two months…and you survived until the very end.

“And _everyone _looks at you that way right now, Bright. Because it was literally _impossible _for you to have done that, and somehow you did. The only difference between them and me – and Gil – is that _I _know just how _much _it took.” His voice shook a little, with emotion he couldn’t hold back. He would be embarrassed about it later. “I know just how _strong…_you had to be, to make it here.” He shook his head. “That’s the only difference, with the DVDs, Bright. I don’t see you as some…_victim _to tiptoe around. I see you as the complete opposite.” He raised his eyebrows, looking at him levelly. The other’s face was still clouded with that doubtful, stricken confusion. “Bright…you’re strong as _hell, _man.” He tensed a little. But in the very far back of his eyes, JT could see a tiny gleam there that hadn’t been there before. “You went through _hell…_and you came out on the other side.” He shook his head again. “That’s not something to pity.”

Malcolm searched his face, like he was looking for a lie. There wasn’t one to see.

“Gil…he’s harder. You should have seen him when you were gone,” he said, softer. Malcolm began to wilt again. “He was a _wreck. _Never sleeping, never eating…he was a mess. He _really _snapped after you called him. Had a breakdown in the precinct…screaming…tearing up the board…” Malcolm’s eyes widened. “I’m _not…_saying that what he did was right— it _wasn’t. _And I should have stopped it. But…it’s different for him. He’s…he’s like your _dad.” _He stated the fact simply— because by now it _should_ be a simple fact. Still, Malcolm was surprised by it somehow. “He might…react differently, but only because…” He shrugged. “You’re the kid that saved his life. That…he watched grow up. That he _helped _grow up. It might stick with him differently, but Bright, it’s _still _not pity. Even what happened the other day….it wasn’t pity. It was just…” He sighed, shrugging one shoulder again. “He loves you. Like everyone does. Some people can’t handle stuff like that. That was why I was the best person.

“But you can bet your _ass _he’s been kicking himself for it ever since.” Malcolm weakened, looking down at the blankets again. JT took a couple seconds, before he tried to wrap it up as best he could. “Anyway, you can…think on it, but…I just…wanted to let you know that that shouldn’t be a worry, for you. I…I know he _told _you it would be that way.” He looked him dead in the eye when he said this, watching Malcolm’s expression fracture in stress and pain. “But…he wasn’t right about anything _else, _was he?” It took Malcolm a second to realize JT was actually waiting for an answer. Reluctantly, he shook his head once. JT nodded his. “No. So why should he be right about this one thing?”

Silence followed the question. This time, Malcolm wasn’t answering. He was just sitting with it numbly, like he was trying to decipher it.

JT sat still for for a while more, before he sighed and started to get up. “Anyway…I just…wanted to tell you that. Your mom is probably—”

“How long?”

He stopped, mid-stand. He frowned, realizing Malcolm was back to looking at him again; slowly, he sat back down. “What?” he asked.

“How long?” Malcolm breathed, his eyes wide and troubled. But desperate. “How long was I gone?”

He stared at him for what felt like forever. It was only a couple seconds but it may as well have been years. JT had no idea what Jessica would have wanted him to say. She likely would have rather him just straight up ignore the question, rather than answer. But the words he’d _just _said to Malcolm were still ringing in the air. He wasn’t going to lie. He wasn’t going to pretend. He was going to answer him. And he did. “You were gone a little over a year,” he replied. Malcolm’s eyes went huge. They rushed to fill with another wave of tears, though thanks to the fact he wasn’t blinking, they weren’t falling just yet. “You were…officially gone…three-hundred and seventy-five days, the ending count was.”

Malcolm’s mouth hung open. Eventually, he tried to stutter out: “S- So…it’s….?”

“It’s August 27th,” JT answered. Hesitated a moment, before he added: “2021.”

It was like the year smacked him. Malcolm stared at JT in shock, his mouth slightly ajar. Slowly, he looked down at himself. Tears finally started falling down his face again, when he raised his right arm and twisted it back and forth. JT’s heart wrenched at how stick-thin it was. No muscles. No nothing. His entire body was like that. And yet…no sooner did the thought begin to occur to JT, did Malcolm look up at him, even _more _desperate, and pleaded in a broken whisper: “Can I— do you— have...?”

He got it. JT glanced over his shoulder. There was nobody looking in yet, though. He reached into his back pocket and got out his phone. He turned the camera so it was capturing him. Slowly, he reached out and offered it to Malcolm. For a couple of moments, he didn’t grab it, as if some part of himself was still aching to be left in the dark because the dark was easier. But the need to know won over.

Malcolm took the phone and used it as a mirror to look at himself for the first time in more than a year.

Immediately, a strangled gasp was dying in his throat. His expression froze at first, but slowly, it broke and he began crying harder as he saw it all. The brittle, awkwardly-cut hair, which was still uneven in places that it had been ripped out, before. After the tube feedings and some rare actual eating, Malcolm didn’t look _as _much like a skeleton covered in skin, but it still wasn’t nearly even in the same ballpark it was supposed to be. His cheekbones were too prominent, and so were his shoulders. His _mouth…_it was difficult to see into it, especially when he began to hyperventilate, but all his teeth were ruined. After a year of unable to brush them, of vomiting and destroying his enamel…it looked horrible, too.

He saw all his scars. The one across his cheek, down his chin, the new stitches cutting into his forehead.

He was staring at someone he had never seen before in his life.

He started crying harder. Broken, empty, traumatized sobs that ripped out of his chest.

JT felt horrible. But at the same time, he didn’t grab his phone back.

Jessica and Ainsley would be running in here in less than five minutes. Yelling and trying to do damage control and screaming at him to leave.

He knew it would happen eventually. But for now, he just sat with Malcolm, locking his jaw against all his sobbing and trying to remain strong for him.

Not taking his phone back.

Giving him the time he knew he needed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience waiting for this update! I hope you like it more than I do, as usual :'D  
I'm VERY excited for next chapter, I have SO many things for it planned, and from this chapter on out, the team will be much more involved in the story so we'll have all THOSE storylines and relationships to look forward to! So I hope you like this chapter, which is leading up to that!  
If you like this chapter I hope to hear from you!! All of your reviews make me so happy and brighten up my days-- I appreciate every single one of you that are reading this fic! I hope I can (kinda?) deliver another good chapter! :'D 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I really hope you like it!!! ♡♡  
(Also, thank you to my friend wewriteletters for looking over this for me and helping edit, if you have any problems with this chapter takei t up with her c:) (Also also, I did far too much research for the very last bit of this fic that I should have probably have spent putting time into school instead SO, I did my best! If there is anything glaringly wrong, I'd love to be able to fix it! I know a whole lot about nursing stuff, not so much about dentistry!!!)

He was numb.

He felt like he’d been plunged into freezing cold water. All the warmth was being sucked out of him— snatched away so fast and so suddenly, he couldn’t get his throat to work. He couldn’t _breathe. _All he could do was sit there, freezing cold, heart stopped in his chest. He still held the phone in his hand, and he was still staring emptily at the screen— at _himself. _But he didn’t see it. Just like he couldn’t hear anything— couldn’t _feel _anything. He didn’t see his reflection anymore.

He didn’t see the thing that was…_supposed _to be his reflection. If it even was.

He didn’t recognize the person that had stared back at him. They were a stranger.

He didn’t recognize the thin, desperate, terrified face. The eyes were bright red from irritation and dull from exhaustion at the same time, ringed with dark, bruise-like bags. They were too skinny…they looked like they were dying of starvation. They were hurt, and distraught. If he saw that person on the street he would have rushed over to them to try and catch them, because this person surely would have been seconds away from capsizing, if they’d even managed to stand somehow in the first place.

This person looked like they’d been through hell. Like they were dying.

This person…was _him?_

A year…a year, a year…an _entire _year— _more _than a year he had been gone.

He should have known…but…it was all so fuzzy, it…it should have…

His mind was going everywhere. Racing and racing, refusing to stop, only growing in his panic.

_Me— I’m— missed— I look— horrifying, I look horrifying, I look like a monster—_

He didn’t even realize he was still sobbing. Loud, empty sobs that shook him to the core. JT had pledged himself to giving him however long he needed to come to terms with what all he’d just realized. But he hadn’t anticipated it lasting this long. Now, his expression was faltering into apprehension. Unease was twisting his stomach into knots, and as Malcolm just kept sobbing, he leaned forward just the tiniest bit. “…Malcolm…” It didn’t reach him. Everything else was radio static to Malcolm, and it was made pretty clear.

JT had heard this same exact sobbing time and again on those DVDs— he’d heard it in the hospital, too, when he’d first woken up. Malcolm had spent too much of this past year in tears. He didn’t deserve to _still _be trapped in that terror, that panic. Having to hear it again, was shoving JT on-edge. But he wasn’t sure what to do. He was _shit _when it came to comfort. He usually left that part to Dani, when it came to handling victims. But he had to try _something._

When Malcolm didn’t so much as look at him, he tried to press: _“Malcolm, _you—”

The instant he started to speak, the door was flying open. He whirled around, shooting up to his feet as Jessica stormed into the room. She looked _livid_. Her eyes were blazing dark with fury. Ainsley was rushing in after her, her eyes wide and torn. On one hand, it looked like she was about to call Jessica back— she was probably the main reason Jessica hadn’t _already _stormed in, in the first place. But at the sight of her brother, she was faltering, any objection dying on her tongue as she just stared at him despairingly.

_“What did you do!?” _Jessica spat. She didn’t wait for an answer, though. She rushed past JT, practically shoving him out of the way to get to Malcolm. Her eyes widened with horror when she saw that he was staring at himself on the phone’s camera. Without thinking, once she got close enough, she smacked it out his hands. It was knocked down to the foot of the bed— Malcolm’s hand stayed frozen in the same grip he’d held it in. He didn’t even react to it being knocked away; he just kept crying, broken, wailing sobs as if he was still staring himself in the face.

She leaned down, slipping her arm underneath his and quickly pulling him into a tight hug. Still, his gaze was vacant and his sobs were never-ending. She cringed, cradling him in her arms and beginning to rock him, reaching up with her other and gently petting down his head, over and over, to hopefully give him something else to feel. “Shh…shh, darling— it’s okay!” She practically had to yell just to be heard. JT watched in horror and guilt as she struggled to hold onto her own panic, and provide him support. “Shh— you’re okay, sweetheart, it’s okay. It’s okay, baby, you’re okay!”

He didn’t react. He was stiff and unresponsive. Ainsley rushed to JT and he braced himself for her to snap at him— to bite his head off like he was sure Jessica wanted to do this very moment. But to his surprise, she didn’t. The blonde looked from her brother, to the phone, her eyes widening as the two pieces connected. She looked at JT, mostly confused. But there was another emotion beginning to grow underneath it. He couldn’t quite place what it was. “Did you show him?” she asked. JT found his voice wouldn’t work anymore. He just nodded once. “And….did you…tell him how long he was gone?” she dared to ask. It seemed almost like she was afraid of the answer.

But again, he nodded, and after a second of her just staring at him, collecting her own thoughts, he was able to put the name on that other emotion, purely because it flooded her expression. Something akin to gratitude. He hadn’t been expecting it— especially with how upset she’d looked when she’d rushed in. But now, her shoulders were drooping, as if someone had taken a load off of them. Her eyes were raw with sadness and pain, but now they allowed just the tiniest bit of thankfulness to crack into them, too. “Thank you…” she murmured, disarming JT even more. “I…wanted to tell him, he…he deserved to know…” Though the words were sure, they were weighted down with regret and remorse.

JT looked back at them, his chest ripping in pain. He said nothing.

Jessica was still struggling to get him to calm down. At least enough to _breathe. _His panic had grown so much, it sounded like he was choking. But her effort was amounting to nothing, and her strain was beginning to show. Her voice was growing weaker, and thicker. “Malcolm— Malcolm, look at me, _look _at me— stay with _me, _baby, stay with me, think about me!” She grabbed his face, moving it to hopefully force him to look at her, but his eyes were still that empty blank. Her lips trembled when she went back to hugging him. “Darling, _please…” _The word wavered into more of a sob, to match his. “Please, sweetheart…you’re _okay…”_

Ainsley was silent now. Her own eyes were tearing up and her lips were beginning to shake.

JT felt guilt like a rock weighing down the pit of his stomach. This was his fault. Ainsley was right, Malcolm did deserve to know…but it was a lot to take in. It should have been handled better. He stared at him now, choking and sobbing, and again, found himself barely able to stomach it. He’d listened to this kid cry too hard, too long, too often. He was tired— he knew _Malcolm _was tired. He’d helped make this mess in the first place— he wanted to help solve it. But he had no idea how to. He stared at him and wracked his brain. Struggling to remember something— _anything_. Malcolm would _always _have fits where he would break down and start panicking while he was away. At _least_ once a day, if not more. What had he done, then?

He thought. Struggled to sift through the mountains and mountains of memories…

_“There…enough DNA in an average human body to stretch from here to Pluto and back…seventeen times…” he breathed shakily. His entire body was trembling. He sat so that his legs were tucked to his chest— so he could be as small as possible. He was whispering under his breath, barely audible and yet the room was so quiet it seemed oddly loud, at the same time. He rocked back and forth as he continued to speak, rubbing his hands up and down his shins. “There are eight times as many atoms in a teaspoon of water than there are teaspoons of water in the Atlantic Ocean…” He was struggling to get his breathing back under control. He reached up to hold tight to his hair. His voice spiked in his distress, but he kept talking._

_“In a lifetime, a person walks the equivalent of five times around the world. Killer whales are actually dolphins. One red blood cell takes about sixty seconds to do a complete circuit of the body. Grasshoppers have ears in their bellies…” He was listing anything and everything, just to get himself to focus on something other than the panic that was clearly threatening to smother him. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could do. That, and rock, and pull on his hair, which he was also doing with a surprising amount of force. His eyes were hollow as they stared straight ahead. _

_He kept whispering. Fast, and desperate. “There are actually over two dozen states of matter. The Great Barrier Reef is the largest living thing on Earth. Water can boil and freeze at the same time— a cloud can weigh over a million pounds, there are more trees on the planet than there are stars in the galaxy. Oxygen has a pale blue color. The letter J is the only letter that does not appear on the periodic table…”_

JT straightened when he finally got it. He stared at Bright now, still in the deep clutches of panic. He hesitated, certain that Jessica wouldn’t appreciate his barging in a second time, especially now when she had tried to give him a chance already. But he didn’t have a choice. Malcolm was freaking out and at this point it was becoming a very real fear that he might pass out again, like last time. So JT forced himself to get over the mental hurdle. “Bright.” Sure enough, Jessica whirled around to fix him with that loathing-filled stare yet again. He wasn’t looking at her. He was focused on Malcolm. “Bright. Look at me, man.”

Malcolm just kept staring at nothing, stuttering out incoherent words between his gasps and cries.

Jessica flared, spitting through her teeth: “You get _out of my house, don’t you _dare_ so much as—”_

“Bright, what makes us scared?” JT raised his voice to talk right over her. Jessica was so enraged and offended that she went positively mute, just glowering at him with all the rage in the world. It was good— it gave him time to prompt him. “C’mon, Bright, you love to bore everyone else with the fact that you’re smart, tell me!” Malcolm’s eyes stayed distant, but his gasping stuttered. His entire body was trembling, and all his inhales were more like broken hiccups. JT walked a little closer, keeping his voice unaffected. “Bright. Fear— what makes us feel scared? I know you’re dying to tell me, just get it over with.”

Jessica glared at him with that poisonous scowl. But to his relief, she entertained the effort, if only because she was out of any ideas for her own. She looked down at her son and held him a little bit tighter, rubbing his shoulder and mentally begging him to come back to himself. At first, he didn’t. He stayed gasping, hiccupping, grimacing. But the more JT egged him on the more he heard him and registered what he was saying. “Fear, Bright,” he pressed. “Tell me how it works— unless that’s something you don’t know,” he tacked on temptingly.

For a couple more seconds, he stared off into space, his breathing ragged. But then, the _tiniest_ bit of intelligence leaked back into his eyes. He blinked. Once, and then again a second time. His lips shook violently, before they slowly parted. He took in a slow, agonizing breath. Jessica’s eyes were wide when he actually began to whisper. His words were breathless, but at least they were there. They were _reacting _to what he had said. “The…fear response is…triggered by…the amygdala…” Jessica let out a breath she’d found herself holding. It was heavy and happy, and a smile slapped itself across her face when he continued.

“The…hippocampus ‘nd…the frontal…cortex interpret…contextual…information…” His eyes were still hollow, and his breathing was still higher-pitched than usual. But he found himself reaching up, holding back to his mother’s arm desperately. Jessica hugged him tighter, when she felt him. “When the brain…interprets it as…something scary, the amygdala…activates the sympathetic nervous system…the…fight or flight…” He wasn’t thinking about the words— it was clear on his face. But hearing them and knowing they were real and something that could not be questioned, was soothing to him somehow. He was slowly untensing. “It…releases stress hormones…like…cortisol…” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

JT nodded, leaning down to try and catch his eye. But Malcolm was still staring off— his expression was still daunted and frightened. There was a risk of him falling right back into the trap of panic. JT quickly tried to think of something else, to keep him rooted. “What about…the periodic table?” he asked, absolutely certain that Malcolm Bright knew every single inch of that thing. Still, he prompted like he didn’t know: “I bet you can’t list the whole thing.” JT didn’t know the right order at all. He could google it to check, but his phone had been smacked away.

He’d just take his word for it. Fairly certain it was an easy bet to say he’d be right if he did.

Sure enough, Malcolm began to whisper. _This _was a much better question to ask. The list started out slow, punctured between gasps and sniffs. But the longer it continued, the steadier it got, and the more he came back to himself. “Hydrogen…helium, lithium…beryllium…boron…carbon, nitrogen…” He was starting to blink again. Rationality was back to settle in his eyes. He still held onto his mother, but he wasn’t shaking at much. His voice began to steady out. “Oxygen, fluorine, neon…sodium, magnesium, aluminum, silicon, phosphorus.” JT closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath as Malcolm’s voice slowly returned to normal. “Sulfur, chlorine, argon, potassium, calcium, scandium, titanium…”

He looked down at himself, his breathing hitching a little again. There was a pause, in which they all dreaded him working himself back up again. But he didn’t. He just kept mumbling after the hesitation. “Vanadium, chromium, manganese, cobalt, nickel, copper…” He trailed off, his forehead creasing as his eyebrows knitted. He stared down at the blankets. He still held to Jessica, but he was back in control, they could all tell. He’d fought away that panic and fear…now, everything that was left was disappointment. In himself, in the situation. The hollow realization that a year of his life had been ripped from him. Muted horror, when he realized the state he was in, now. He closed his eyes in a cringe. He said nothing.

Nobody else seemed sure what to say, either. JT realized that Jessica was staring him down. Her glare was still hard. Like she wasn’t sure whether or not she should thank him or snap at him to leave again. It looked like she wanted to do a little bit of both, and yet she held her tongue. She redirected her attention on her son, instead, softening in that sorrowful, loving way she always did. “Are you alright, sweetheart?” she asked gently, murmuring it against his injured forehead.

Malcolm stayed staring down dismally. But he sighed after a moment: “…Yeah…”

She closed her eyes. Taking care to be soft, she hugged him just a little tighter. “I’m sorry…” she whispered. Malcolm hardly even blinked, but they could tell he was listening, at least. “I’m so sorry…I…I didn’t…know how to…” She trailed off, not even knowing how to explain herself.

There was a long stretch of silence. Before Malcolm croaked out a weak: “A…_year? _A whole…_year?”_

She cringed, like the question caused her physical pain. When she spoke, her voice was thick and congested with tears she was struggling to hold back. “We tried to find you for so long…we did _everything, _and _none _of it was enough…” JT found himself looking down at the ground. His chest was back to feeling tight, again. He couldn’t stand to look at the emptiness on Malcolm’s face. The realization that, really, there wouldn’t be any other answer that would make sense. He’d had the pieces in front of him the whole time, he just hadn’t put it together. That, coupled with seeing himself for the first time…

“We’re sorry, Malcolm…” Ainsley murmured weakly. “We wanted to tell you…it’s just…”

Malcolm closed his eyes. It was even longer, before he could speak again. It was just a little croak. “I…look…” He couldn’t finish. His eyes were welling up fast again.

Jessica quickly leaned away, so she could look at him. “Hey— _hey…” _She titled his face up to her gently. She smiled, all the love in the world there to melt her eyes. _“You…_look just fine,” she murmured. His eyes flashed; he moved his head like he wanted to yank it away. But she softened, reaching up and brushing his bangs back. They’d fallen in his face after his episode. “You look _just _fine,” she repeated, ignoring the way he looked at her— sadly, and doubtfully. She just kept fixing his hair. “I still see my son,” she gushed. He faltered, surprised. He cracked a tiny smile, after the words sunk in. It made her beam. “And it’ll only get better from here, darling, I promise,” she vowed.

His smile grew a little bit more. Before it was faltering, and he seemed to realize something. He turned, looking back over at JT. Jessica let go of his face. Her expression was still torn, but she didn’t say anything. She did watch her son carefully, though. For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. They just stared, wary and hesitant. Malcolm’s eyes flashed and he ducked his head, beginning to look away. “I— …I’m…sorry, I—”

“Don’t,” JT dismissed. He glanced back up at him, unsure. He remained steady. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for.” Malcolm’s eyes flashed, but he nodded reluctantly. There was still awkwardness and embarrassment written over his face. Now that the shock of everything was leaving – likely to resurface some other time so he could come to terms with it fully – that shame was coming back. JT waited, dreading it to just get bigger and bigger. But it didn’t come back _all _the way. It was remaining, but not as much. JT fought not to sigh with relief. At least this had done _some _good.

He wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t good at these types of things.

Neither was Malcolm. But somehow, he had the wits about him to get _something _out. Even if his voice was much quieter than usual. “Thank you…” he murmured eventually, surprising JT for about the million time. He looked at him in slight confusion, but he was back to studying the blankets. There was anxiety on his face, but he was working through it by letting go of Jessica, moving instead to grip the quilt. Probably the hardest grip he could manage, at the moment. “I…” His forehead creased again. He was coming up short.

Jessica was looking carefully between them, still reproachful. Still rather having him leave.

JT finally found his voice. “I should go.” Nobody was really surprised. It was getting late, and he’d been out there all day. Malcolm had been woken up from sleep in the first place— not that he’d gotten through a panic attack, the exhaustion coming back over his face was growing more and more apparent. And to top it all off, JT was still completely soaked from the rain. He’d done what he came to do. He knew that from here on out, everything was up to Malcolm. He needed to leave him time to sort through it all.

Malcolm glanced up at him. He just nodded a little. But JT could sense the gratitude he didn’t speak.

JT looked at Jessica. Most of her hostility was gone— all that lingered was the ghost of it. He managed to give her a little, very awkward, nod. When he looked at Ainsley, it was much less so. The younger Whitly smiled, giving him one more silent ‘thank you’ with her eyes. She stepped to the side when he left, to give him room. He headed out of the study, turning to close the door behind him when he did. He could see through the windows that paneled the door. Ainsley was going up to take the spot he’d had, standing at her brother’s other bedside. She was saying something he couldn’t make out.

Malcolm wasn’t listening. He looked up, and his eyes caught on JT’s once more. His expression was unreadable. Perhaps if JT had time to piece it all apart, he might be able to decipher it. But for right now, there was too much. It was a mystery to him, but at the same time, it seemed to speak volumes of things he didn’t even think could be put into words _anyway. _It wasn’t a smile, it wasn’t a frown. It wasn’t sad or happy, or even resignation. Maybe it was something closer to the third. Whatever it was, it was steady and constant, as their eyes held.

Standing there, he realized he actually didn’t have any idea what Malcolm had thanked him for.

Telling him the truth? Letting him see himself? Calming him down?

Watching the videos?

‘Being’ there for him, to talk to?

JT didn’t know.

But he found, standing there staring at him – seeing the two smiling family members at his side, seeing him safe at home, in a hospital bed, knowing he was being taken care of – that he didn’t care at all what the thank-you was for.

All he cared about was the thought that Malcolm was _there _to say thank you in the first place.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“You okay?” The question was small, in the dark. Ainsley was laying down by him in the bed again, her brother’s face lit up by the gentle glow of the nightlight. The only sound for quite some time had been Sunshine’s little chirps and coos every so often; however, by now, even _she _was starting to fall asleep. JT had left a couple of hours ago. Ever since he had, Malcolm had been much quieter than normal. He’d barely spoken. Even when Ainsley snuggled in close to him and Jessica had left with a soft kiss to his temple and a quiet whisper of ‘goodnight’, he’d just laid there in silence. The look on his face was impossible to read.

He was _still_ quiet, when she asked this. He stared up at the ceiling, still with that same expression. But eventually, he took in a slow breath. There was another pause, before he finally whispered. But it wasn’t to answer her question. “I should have known…” he breathed. She wilted. So did he. “I should have known how long it had been…I…remember him…saying it was the…fourth of July…” His eyebrows knitted, just a little. “I…remember…Thanksgiving…a little…”

The look in his eyes was growing haunted. Hollow, with old fear. “I…_barely_ remember…Christmas, I just— think I remember…him…saying something…” He closed his eyes. “I don’t…remember much _past _that, but…I…” When he opened his eyes again, they were filled with unshed tears. “I just…should have known…” he repeated, much weaker. Her heart was already tearing. It was only tearing more the further along he went. “I should have _known _from the way I…can’t stand up, can’t…_eat_ anything…” He took in another shivering breath, before he whispered: “A year…” The two words were hollow.

That was all he said. But his tone said everything else he did not.

For a long moment, Ainsley couldn’t speak. When she finally pushed herself to, her voice was almost as weak as his was. “It was…hard…” He looked at her with this, his eyes bright with pain. This time, it was _her _that looked away. To study the blankets, instead of face him. “It was the hardest year…I was…visiting the station every single day after work, _just_ to ask Gil if they’d found something else— _anything _else…Mom was handling it absolutely _awful_— you know how she can be…”

Malcolm took her words the wrong way. His eyes rounded out a little, as guilt flooded into them. Ainsley was already doing a double-take, but she went stiff when he started to fumble out a tiny, choked: “I’m…I’m sorry…”

“No!” She said it so quickly and so loudly that it made him cringe. She felt guilty, but at the same time, she too focused on shooting this idea down before it had the chance to really take root in his head. “No, Malcolm— don’t apologize, that’s not what I meant at _all!” _Guilt was still raw on his face. She shook her head, softening. “Malcolm, _don’t _apologize for us _missing you,” _she admonished gently. “And especially don’t say you’re sorry about something you had no say in.” He looked away, his expression still heavy. He said nothing, but she could read the misery on his face.

She felt horrible. “Hey. Mal.” He looked at her with all the reluctance in the world. She smiled. It was already weak, and yet when she started to speak, her eyes began to burn and the smile turned even flimsier. Her voice choked with emotion she couldn’t even begin to talk her way through. “I am _so _glad you’re here,” she pressed, every word coming with its own little tremor. He blinked. Then smiled a little. It wasn’t much, but it was immediately making her own grin widen. “I am _so _glad Gil and them found you in enough time…everything else we can worry about later. _All_ I care is that I have my big brother back…because for a while, it didn’t seem like I would. Okay?”

He softened slowly, in minuscule amounts at a time. His smile grew just as fast. Her chest filled with unbearable warmth when he murmured a tiny: “Okay,” back to her.

She was about to do it without asking, when she remembered herself at the last second. “Can I hug you?” she laughed, feeling awkward she had to ask permission. But she knew her brother had already been sensitive about touch before this entire thing had started. _Now_, he was even _more_ averse. It was for a reason she was refusing to acknowledge, especially at the moment, but she at least acknowledged it enough to have foresight. She wanted to hug him so bad, though, she wasn’t sure what she’d say if he rejected her.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to find out. He smiled more, and raised his right arm. It was the most he could do. He couldn’t sit up, and the nurses didn’t want him to twist. She was more than willing to meet him all the way, though. Ainsley grinned, shifting closer and reaching out. She was very careful of his broken arm, but she stretched across his chest to slide her arm up underneath his. She leaned her head to the side and rested it on his shoulder. She smiled when Malcolm let his right arm drape over her.

They lay like that for a couple long moments, the smile on Ainsley’s face never leaving.

Eventually, Malcolm whispered into the dark: “How long is this hug going to last?” Teasingly. He was _teasing _her, again. When just yesterday, he’d spent the entire day staring off into space.

“Shut up, I _love_ you,” she just snapped, pumping her voice full of fake anger.

She felt his shoulder shake with a little giggle. She’d been mostly joking when she’d snapped it, but when he replied there was nothing but sincerity in his tired voice. “Love you, too, Ains,” he murmured. When he got to her name, his voice caved a little, like it wasn’t exactly strong enough to support itself. Her smile faded a little and she let go just enough so she could look at him. His eyes were filled with tears he was trying not to shed. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Hey…you okay?” she murmured, her own face falling.

He nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, it’s…I’m fine,” he breathed. “I’m…just…_here.”_

Ainsley said nothing; she continued to look at him with concern.

His lower lip shook more violently. His tears welled faster. He inhaled sharply, like he was gasping, before he repeated himself in a whisper. “I’m here…” She softened, beginning to understand as she watched his expression start to break. As she watched his eyes close tightly and lips shake even more. Pretty soon, he was crying. It wasn’t out of control and panicked, like before. It was emptier, this time. Sadder and soft. She knew he _wasn’t_ sad. He was the farthest from it. But still, he wept. He _needed to, _at this point. Ainsley settled back against him, her heart breaking and feeling so full at the same time.

Ainsley smiled. A year’s worth of relief on her face and in her voice. “You are,” she reassured, as if he needed it. And he probably did. She knew _she _needed the reassurance he was still there. Still breathing, still with her, still okay. Her smile grew as she hugged him just a little bit tighter. Love filling her voice to the brim as she promised: “You’re _home.”_

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Ainsley had to get up for work, that next morning. Jessica set her alarm out in the living room, so it might not wake Malcolm. She crept into the room, going to head for her daughter and nudge her awake, but she found herself stopping, halfway to the bed. The sight that met her froze her in her tracks. Her chest warmed and her heart squeezed when she looked at her two children. Malcolm was on his back like he usually was, his expression calm and peaceful in deep sleep. She hadn’t heard him wake up, if he had, during the night. Ainsley was on her side, curled up to him. Her head was mere centimeters from his shoulder; her hand had strayed up at one point and ended up resting there gently, near his neck.

They both looked so peaceful. So happy.

For a long while, Jessica stood there and watched them sleep, her eyes stinging with relief and happiness. But then she snapped back— remembering why she’d come in in the first place. She crept closer and leaned down, reaching out to lightly rest her hand on her shoulder. She didn’t dare so much as whisper her name. Thankfully, she was rousing anyway. Ainsley pried her eyes open and stirred slowly, looking at her mom with bleary irritation at first. But when Jessica pointed to her watch, she got the message.

She looked back at her brother, grimacing a little as she slowly took her hand away. Just as slowly, she began to ease off the bed, trying not to disturb him too much. The tiniest shift of weight could get him snapping awake, just because of how hypervigilant he was. Sure enough, she was just pushing herself up to stand, when his head twitched and started to shake from side to side. She wilted and so did Jessica when he forced himself to open his eyes. He looked even more disoriented than Ainsley had. He could barely keep his eyes open in the first place, as he stared up at them.

Jessica softened, leaning out and running the back of her hand lightly down the side of his face. “Go back to sleep, baby,” she breathed, Malcolm’s eyes automatically getting heavier again with her gentle touch. “Ainsley’s just leaving for work…go ahead and go back to sleep— I’ll keep an ear out for you.” She was promising this before she even had to think about it. She was glad when this seemed to connect. Between the reassurance and her hand on his face, Malcolm’s eyes closed, again. His head fell slack to the side and he let out a heavy, contented sigh.

They watched with twin looks of relief.

Ainsley left to go get ready. Jessica left to do the same, not without pausing long enough to plant a kiss on Malcolm’s temple.

The two left the room. When they did, Malcolm’s eyes opened again. He laid in silence, still half-asleep, staring through half-lidded eyes at mostly nothing. He felt…nice. He felt _really _nice. He was under warm blankets…sleep still smothering him just like they were. His head was on a pillow, he felt warm and safe and…maybe he felt happy, too. The closest yet, in what felt like forever.

Yes.

He felt happy. _Next _to happy. Secure, in the warm light of the nightlight at his bedside.

And with that thought, and with Jessica’s kiss warm on his forehead, his eyes slid closed once more.

For once, he fell asleep easily.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“You look as though you’re doing better,” she remarked, her voice soft.

Malcolm stayed silent. He wasn’t sure what to say to her, with that.

Gabrielle kept that silence up for a heartbeat as she studied him. Eventually, she spoke. “You know, I recommended to your mother you should be admitted to the hospital again.” He perked, dragging his eyes up from the blanket. His heart clutched at the implication. “Of course…once again, Jessica wasn’t about to be told what to do.” She only said this the tiniest bit jokingly. “I still think it would be a good idea…I’m not too sure you’re ready to be in this type of setting…out from the eyes of people that can help.” When he didn’t reply immediately, her gaze grew even more thoughtful. “What do you think about that?”

It took him a long time to be able to answer. He didn’t know whether that was because the answer was so difficult to get out, or if it was just because he had no idea what the answer was, himself. But eventually, it came. His voice was hoarse. There was a cup of water on his bedside table he hadn’t so much as touched. “I wouldn’t want to go,” he murmured, some of the letters chipping in his dry throat. She tilted her head, her eyebrows pulling together more. “I’d…rather be here…home…”

“Does it _feel _like home to you, yet?” she rivaled. “It didn’t the last time we spoke.”

“I was…having a breakdown. Then,” he defended himself, without thinking.

“Malcolm…with a situation like this…episodes like that don’t come and go,” she reminded him. Gentle, but firm, at the same time. “Trauma to this severity isn’t a linear path…it’s a hard, difficult one— with relapses and pitfalls and back-and-forths…when things get bad again, you would benefit from the constant surveillance that a hospital can provide.” She hesitated, before she prompted: “Have you considered it? Hospitalization? To help you…come to terms with what’s happened? To be…_away _from everything else, if only for the time being? Until you’re more at peace with what’s happened?”

“Can you be at peace, with something like this?” Malcolm mumbled immediately.

Gabrielle’s face fell.

But he wasn’t letting her by. He looked at her, and demanded just a fraction louder: “If something like this happened to you…if you couldn’t remember a majority of a _year _away…would you be able to find peace with it? So fast? Or _ever?” _Malcolm’s stare was bordering on the edge of reproach. But the fire that was so fast to spark at the implications of her question was just as fast to burn out, again. That sadness was coming back to replace it, instead. The deep, aching sorrow he had been trying to keep a lid on this entire time. When he answered, there was nothing but sincerity to his voice. “I don’t want to leave them…” he breathed. “Ainsley and Mother…I don’t want to leave them.”

“You would be safer at a hospital,” she tried to argue. Her eyes went down to his arms.

He looked down at himself, and his stomach tightened. Not only when he saw the thinness of his arms, which always surprised him, no matter how many times he looked, but also when he saw the scars that were there. The thin, horizontal ones. Again, he tried to reach back into his memory, but whenever that happened it must been after Christmas. Christmas and everything after that was nothing but fuzzy hazes. Blurs and emotions that were just out of reach, unable to be grasped. He had no idea how he got those scars. He had a good guess. But at the same time…what use was a guess?

“I’m not going to kill myself,” he announced dully. “Or hurt myself.”

Gabrielle didn’t seem too sure. “I just want what’s best for you, Malcolm.”

His chest tore. He wasn’t even really sure why, before he started talking. “I don’t…look like myself,” he breathed. She wilted, but didn’t interrupt, or object. He kept going. “I don’t act like myself…when I dream, its all…hazy…_horrifying _memories that make no sense…sometimes…people will _say _or _do _something that just…makes me _uncomfortable, _makes me start to panic, even though I have no idea why.” His throat was getting hot, just making speaking even harder. Again, he wasn’t so much as glancing at the cup of water. Maybe simply out of habit, by this point. “I never used to eat a _lot, _but now I can’t eat anymore— at _all. _I wake up every thirty minutes, screaming from a nightmare…

“I’m not me, anymore…” he rasped painfully. “I’m not myself…I don’t…even really know who I am anymore. Or what I’m going to _do_, because right now, recovery seems pretty impossible…” He felt heat building up in his eyes. “But…_they _don’t treat me like that…they don’t look at me like I’m a stranger. They look at me like I’m…still me.” He cracked a smile. It was sad, but it was there, all the same. His voice was just the tiniest bit weaker, but he still got it out. “They still…care about me. _For_ me. And…after a— _year _of…not having _anything _like that— of _missing _that…sometimes…a _lot_ of the times…it can just make me more upset. About everything— about how everything’s changed. But…sometimes…”

He thought of how much better he slept with someone by him. About how Ainsley had forced him to play about twenty-five different card games so far, even though he couldn’t even really hold a deck right now in his one hand. About how Jessica always kissed him on his temple and smiled lovingly at him. He started to smile, feeling the tiniest amount of happiness kindle in his chest, right alongside his aching sorrow. It produced a painful mix of hot and cold. One that was unpleasant but wonderful, at the same time.

“Sometimes, I think it’s exactly what I’ve spent all last year wanting,” he croaked.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He was watching Sunshine flitter about her cage, when his mother walked back in. His eyes were soft with affection as he watched the little parakeet— as he listened to her chirps that he’d long since forgotten. They sounded brand new, but old at the same time. Like the feeling of coming home after a long vacation, and curling up in your own bed again. When he heard footsteps, he was fast to turn around, his smile fading. But it was just her. She smiled tenderly at him as she came in, and he tried not to feel too frustrated when he realized how fast his heart had started to hammer in his chest— how easily his skin began to crawl, at the mere sound of footsteps.

Snap out of it…he had to _snap out of it…_

If she noticed his jolt, she didn’t mention it. Malcolm was preparing to put his smile back on, but when he saw what she was carrying, it was dropping again. The tray was filled with food. A large variety…grilled lemon chicken salad, roasted salmon, dried fruit, shrimp and broccoli with rice…looking at it, you wouldn’t even think it was intended to be eaten all at the same time. She was smiling from ear to ear, when she sat it down in front of him. He stared at it and tried to keep his face neutral. “If you don’t like something, we can _always _whip something else up,” she was fast to rush. He glanced up at her, wary. “This is…just what your nurses have recommended. To…get your strength and your weight back. But— if you’d rather have something else…”

“It’s…” She was staring at him with all the intensity in the world. “It…looks good…” he whispered slowly, forcing the words out. He felt like he had no other choice, with the way she was staring at him.

She brightened. “Well, _good!”_ She nudged the tray closer; his stomach heaved. “Dig in,” she invited. Still, he only eyed it. She was beginning to frown, but then her eyes lit up. “Oh! Of course!” He watched with discomfort as she set to cutting up the food for him. His eyes flashed as he glanced down at his left arm. His heart just sank even more. She was oblivious. “There— that should be good for now,” she declared, having cut up half the chicken and half the salmon. Once again, she was expectant.

Discomfort was gripping him tight around the throat. He looked from her, to the food.

She tilted her head to the side, her eyebrows knitting. “Dear…?” she prompted, sounding worried.

“I’m— …it’s…” His mouth was dry. All he felt was severe disgust— he usually didn’t like food all that much in the first place, but this was…a different _kind_ of sick. It was sharper. He felt like gagging, just at the _sight_. Suddenly, he had to concentrate on breathing. The food in front of him was entirely unrelated— it was already there for him, already ready to eat, he _knew. _And yet as he looked down at the tray, all he felt was disgust. He could _hear _Winston in his head, laughing and gloating. He felt hands slide down his shoulder, ripping jacket off, shoving him into a kneeling position. This food was unrelated, but at the same time it _was. _His skin was crawling. He wanted to throw up.

“Aren’t you hungry, darling?” Jessica pressed.

He cringed away from the question. He _was. _He was _very _hungry. And yet…

He brought himself to look at her and though she was disappointed, he realized she didn’t look surprised. She’d been expecting this— not _wanting _it to happen, but knowing it most likely would. He felt awful. Ungrateful. Horrible. He tried to force himself to reach for the food but he couldn’t even do _that. _All he did was hear Winston’s voice hissing into his ear. _That’s right…this is all you’re good for now, Whitly. Just like that… _He cringed, ducking his head and looking away. “I’m…I’m sorry…” he choked out, his voice thick. His hands were trembling. Pretty soon, the rest of him would follow.

She wilted, looking between him and the tray. She remained cautious, and yet she started to try and nudge him. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d coaxed food down her son. It was probably all the way back to when he was still confused— when she had to make sure everything he ate was small, because he would just stuff whatever it was into his mouth and swallow it whole, like he was afraid of not being able to finish it fast enough before it was taken away. Now, he was _aware. _The nurses were wanting to take that tube feed out of him. But they couldn’t _do _that if he _still _wasn’t eating.

“Darling…why don’t you want to eat?” she pressed. He closed his eyes tightly, like her question caused him physical pain. She wilted even more. “Is it…something about the food? I can get you something else— whatever you want!” He shook his head once, very fast. Her shoulders drooped. She was silent for a long while, trying to stuff down her frustration and sorrow as she looked at the outright terror that was creasing her son’s face— the panic he was doing everything to avoid falling into. She knew she was just making it worse— _harder. _And yet this was just as important as keeping him mentally safe. He _had _to eat. “What can I do to make it better?” she asked, at a loss. “Is there…_anything _I can do to help you eat?”

He glanced at the tray again, his guilt and discomfort only growing. Again, he tried to get his hand to at least reach out, but he was frozen. He was actually worried he was going to throw up, the more he looked at it. He was feeling sick, nauseated, hot and cold at the same time as the room tilted. He looked away again, knowing his mother just fractured with even more sorrow. “No, it’s— …I’m sorry.” His voice was even more clogged. It was snapping Jessica out of it more, and when she realized her son’s eyes were bright with tears, it was yanking her the rest of the way out of it. Slapping her across the face and demanding she actually _look _at what she was doing to her son. “I’m—…” He tried to find the words, but there weren’t any. He just stared miserably off to the side, his lips trembling.

For a couple of moments, she could only stare at him, muted and dulled disappointment and regret swamping her. It took a heartbeat or two for her to be able to jerk herself out of her reverie. For her to realize that right now, though her intentions were good, for some reason she was doing more harm than she was good. That her son was hurting and she had no idea why, but she wasn’t about to find out any time soon. _That _was a little harder for her to swallow, and yet she had no choice but to choke it back.

She shook herself, and found it within herself to smile. “Don’t apologize, dear,” she reassured after clearing her throat, to make sure her voice wouldn’t be affected in any way. He didn’t look at her at first, and when he did, it was clear he didn’t believe her. He looked unbearably guilt and unsure— teetering right on the edge of becoming overwhelmed. Her eyes softened. She reached out and put a hand on his cheek, lovingly, and gently. He found himself leaning into her touch without even thinking about it. It made her smile stronger. “We can just…save it for later,” she proposed.

He smiled back at her. It was a small one. But it was relieved beyond measure.

She returned the grin. There was no impatience in her expression, or irritation. She looked sad, but her smile held affection, too, when she looked at him. Staring at her head-on, Malcolm’s stomach began to twist all over again. Something in his chest was tightening. Jessica became confused, when she saw his expression change— as she watched his look of contented security be replaced with shaking lips and shiny eyes. She opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong— to reassure him that he didn’t have to eat right now if he didn’t want to. But he was speaking before she could. Bursting out, with a voice suddenly as shaky as his hands. “…I’m sorry…” he repeated, much more miserably this time.

She frowned, glancing at the tray. “Oh— oh, honey— don’t be sorry!” she rushed. “You don’t have to have any of it right now, it’s _perfectly _okay, I don’t want you to be upset—”

“It’s— no, it’s— it’s not about that…” Her heart ripped, when she saw the tears building in her son’s eyes. After this first stumble, everything else was fast to crumble out from under him. Sobs were beginning to bubble up, underneath his voice. “I’m…I’m so sorry I—…” He took in a deep, trembling breath, and let it out in a fragile: “I’m sorry for…being gone. For so long…” Her eyes went wide. Malcolm’s eyes watered even more. “I’m— I don’t…remember a _lot_, it’s all fuzzy, but I— I _must have _tried to get away, but…I guess I wasn’t— I— just— it never…” The first of his tears fell. The drop broke, when it reached Jessica’s hand. “I’m sorry for being gone,” he ended up repeating brokenly. Guilt and remorse was alive in every feature of his face. “And I’m sorry for…being so much of a…” He couldn’t finish this thought. It was too painful.

It took her a moment to realize what he was getting at. When she did, her eyes went considerably wider. Her stomach fell; she forgot about the food entirely. “Malcolm…no…you can’t _seriously _be blaming _yourself, _can you?” she breathed. His eyes darted away, which was its own answer. She felt her own eyes begin to sting. She raised her other hand so she could cradle his face. “Sweetheart…look at me.” He did. His lips were shaking, despite his efforts to keep them still. She drew her thumbs along his cheekbones. She had to take a couple seconds just to breathe, to make sure her voice would at least be a little normal when she spoke. Though it came out noticeably thicker.

“Malcolm…_none _of this is your fault.” His expression crumbled; more tears fell. _“None _of it. It wasn’t your fault he took you…it wasn’t your fault he _hurt _you…you don’t need to apologize for _any _of it.” He glanced at the food, weakening even more. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, but she was already shaking her head. “And you don’t need to apologize for whatever comes next. All we want is for you to get _better…_we don’t care how long that takes. Or what you’ll need. Don’t feel guilty for it. We _love _you, darling…all we want to do is help you.”

She wiped away some of his tears. He sniffed. After a handful of seconds, he smiled. Just a fraction. “Thank you…” he whispered. She’d never heard him sound so grateful, before.

She beamed. “Of course,” she murmured back, just as softly.

For a couple heartbeats, they held one another’s smile. Eventually, Malcolm blinked, his eyes drawn back to the food. Jessica took her hands away, starting to gather everything back up again. But she stopped, when he moved. He started to reach out for the chicken. Jessica was about to brighten, when she frowned instead. “Malcolm.” He stopped right as he was about to pick up one of the bites she’d cut. He looked at her quickly, his eyes widening at the way she said his name— like he’d done something wrong. He was rushing to try and figure out what it was, his hand beginning to shake as her confused and sharp tone began to fester in his too-jumpy mind.

He was confused when she just picked up the fork and handed it to him. “Here.”

He looked at it for a second, as if he had no idea what it was. It took much too long for it to hit him. Jessica was swamped with an obscene amount of relief when it finally did. “Oh…” He hadn’t even _thought _about using a fork. He’d just…automatically started to use his hands. “Right…sorry…” He mumbled the apology a second time, when he took the utensil from her. She didn’t reply; she was staring at him differently. He didn’t like it. He redirected his attention back on the food, acutely aware of how much his skin was crawling, now. How severely the fork shook, in his grip.

Thankfully, despite his trembling, he managed to stab it. He wasn’t embarrassed any _further, _which was a relief. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take. His mother’s eyes were boring into him when he put the bite in his mouth. The second it was making contact with his tongue, he was fighting the urge not to gag. Maybe if he forced the first bite down, all the others wouldn’t be so bad. He gripped the fork tighter, trying to focus on _that_ more than what he was doing as he started to chew. And yet the very second he _did, _suddenly he wasn’t worried at _all _about gagging.

Instead, pain exploded in his mouth like a firework. It was sudden and unexpected— the second it was ripping through him, Malcolm was dropping his fork and doubling over. He didn’t even hear Jessica’s cry of alarm— his head was pounding too much to. _Each and every one_ of his teeth felt like there were little nails drilling up in them. The chicken was tough; the instant he started to try and chew through it, agony was stopping him. His entire mouth was on fire, just from the tiny attempt. A strangled sob worked its way out of his chest. His tears were back, but this time they were rushing down his cheeks right away.

Jessica grabbed his shoulders, leaning him back into the bed. “What’s wrong!?”

He couldn’t answer. He tried to take another bite, so he could choke the food back, but the pain only tripled in intensity. This time he screamed, clapping his hand over his mouth. Jessica’s eyes were wide and her mind was everywhere, but thankfully she kept her wits about her. She grabbed one of the napkins and held it out for him. “Spit it out— it’s okay, spit it out into here!” He did. The bite of chicken looked exactly as it had when he’d put it in his mouth— not even chewed once. Jessica’s stomach lurched when she saw it was tinged with blood.

She looked back at her son. He was just trying to breathe again. The pain was so intense he was gasping, choking on every attempt. He kept his hand covering his mouth. Tears streamed down his face, sobs puncturing every other breath in. “What’s wrong?” she asked again. He couldn’t answer— he just kept crying. She remembered in the hospital, when one of their nurses had spent nearly an hour just trying to brush his teeth. The toothbrush had been black, with old blood. Looking at him now and how much pain was written over his face, she felt completely stupid for not having remembered a detail like that. Why hadn’t she considered the state of his mouth!? Just _thinking _about how many cavities he probably had…

“Malcolm, I’m so sorry…I’m sorry— I wasn’t thinking…” He just cringed again, sucking in a sharp breath and letting out a tiny wail that was muffled into his palm. He was trembling, gasping raggedly through the waves of pain. Obviously, he’d been number to the pain, before. She imagined the morphine was making it easier to handle, and that it had been blended in with all the _rest _of the pain was probably in. Now, it was unavoidable. Guilt stabbed into her heart. She rubbed up and down his arm, trying to make it better. Her voice getting thicker and thicker as she repeated: “I’m so sorry, darling— I should have gotten you something softer, I wasn’t thinking, I’m so sorry…”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“Malcolm, if I knew that’s what you were gonna do, I wouldn’t have given it to you.” Her voice was soft, but firm at the same time— it held the tiniest bit of edge to it.

He blinked, for the first time in a while. His eyes were burning, he had gone so long without blinking. He perked, wrenched right out of his thoughts. He wilted. “It’s— not what I was trying to do,” he mumbled. The phone’s screen was black. It was catching the light of his bedside lamp in _just_ the right way to give him a glimpse of himself. The shadows just made him look worse. Or maybe that was just his opinion withering away even more. He was stuck on the bony appearance, the haggard look. He looked like something a child would be scared of standing at the end of their hallway at night. Hiding under the bed.

He didn’t look like himself. Not at all.

He managed to pry his eyes away from the screen, and realized Ainsley was staring at him. The look she wore was slightly pained, but it was also impatient, somehow, too. He knew she only looked that way because she knew he wouldn’t want to see her upset. He figured he owed her something for that. At least _she _was trying to hide it. Heaven knew his mother never did— that, or she was horrible at it.

“What _were_ you trying to do?” she asked, turning back to his drawers. He watched her dismally, as she rifled through them, organizing them and putting in the new clothes that she and Jessica had apparently sent out for. Well…_they _called them clothes. They’re _weren’t— _they were _pajamas. _They were all pajamas that, though he didn’t know for sure yet, looked about ten times smaller than the sizes he’d bought before. They looked way too small, and yet the ones he was wearing now (and had _been _wearing for a while, now) were so baggy on him it looked like he was ten, trying to fit into adult clothes. They were _his _pajamas…and yet they didn’t look like they were his at all.

The ones she was putting away would fit so much better.

Which was exactly what he was afraid of.

He got so distracted looking at the clothes, he’d forgotten she’d asked him a question.

He jerked, blinking rapidly when she glanced back at him. He hesitated, discomfort crawling under his skin. The words started to stack up on the tip of his tongue, but at the last second they fell apart. He set the phone aside, shaking his head as he let it fall to the side. “…Nevermind,” he sighed. Ainsley wilted. He tried not to notice, but it was difficult. “It was stupid,” he breathed. He said this softly, but his tone was more than clear on the fact he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

She stared at him, biting her lip for a couple seconds. She opened her mouth.

But just then, Jessica was sweeping into the room. A smile on her face.

And a wheelchair in her stride.

Malcolm’s eyes flickered fast to her, out of habit; when he saw the wheelchair they were darting away again. If she noticed – which there was no doubt she _definitely_ did – she didn’t show it. “Alright!” She was beaming. Of course she was. She was over the moon. Malcolm was getting out of bed. If it was up to him, of course, something different would be the case. But it _wasn’t_ up to him, just like nothing _else_ was up to him. The therapists had been working hard on helping him to sit up for longer periods of time. Of maneuvering better. He couldn’t either for very long before he got too tired. But everyone else just saw the progress…not how it was making him _feel_. Not how much it was hurting him.

She wheeled the chair over, her eyes bright. Making him feel horrible as she prompted: “Are you ready, darling?” He grimaced a little, and she caught it. Her happy look fractured, but she didn’t give up. She never did. She just looked over her shoulder at Erin and Kristen, who had been following. The two therapists looked as optimistic as she did. Though, Malcolm found himself offering them more leeway. They were being _paid _to look optimistic— he couldn’t very well fault them for that. His _mother_ on the other hand…

“Alright!” Kristen cheered, sounding about twice as enthusiastic as any normal human being would sound. She put the siderails of Malcolm’s bed down on that side. Her eyes were gleaming with excitement and encouragement. It made him feel a little sicker. “Let’s get mobile, then!” He wasn’t impressed and the fact was more than obvious. Her smile receded back into calmer territory as more sympathy leaked into it. “We’re gonna go nice and slow, Malcolm,” she reassured, catching the nervousness in his eyes when they went back to the chair. “We’re gonna take our time and you’re gonna take nice, even breaths the whole way. But we _are _gonna make it. Yeah?”

It was an entire five seconds of awkward silence before Malcolm realized she _actually wanted _a response. The offer he returned barely constituted one. “Oh. Yeah,” he mumbled, barely moving his lips. His eyes were stuck on the wheelchair, despondent and hollow. Staring at the thing he was forced to use purely because his legs weren’t strong enough to support himself. Jessica got stuck on the look on her son’s face, faltering briefly in the sorrow of it. When she saw how dull and empty her son’s eyes were, her grin was fast to fade. She’d been nothing but excited at the prospect of getting her son up and moving. She hadn’t even stopped to think that he might not share her enthusiasm.

But Kristen was sweeping on, and Jessica found herself losing the nerve to speak up in the first place, just closing her mouth and ducking her head, instead, to study the floor. “Great!” she chirped, Malcolm’s hand clenching into a tight fist at the peppiness. “It’s going to be a long way getting there, but I bet it’s going to feel _amazing _to get in the bath.” He felt a hot sting of self-consciousness smack him in the face at her seemingly-innocent comment. From the other side of the room, Ainsley had finally finished putting all his new clothes into their drawers. She was standing back up, having picked out a pair to put in the bathroom for when he was done. A light blue set that looked like it’d be too small to fit _her. _

She rushed off, certain to be arranging everything she could for him. Probably lining up every single shampoo, conditioner, and body wash known to man. Picking out the fluffiest towel, after carefully judging every single one. He would be further embarrassed by that, if he wasn’t so grateful for her being busy. If she wasn’t doing all that stuff, she would just be in here, staring at him and watching as him struggle just to move over and sit in a wheelchair. Which was what his mother was certain to be doing.

He had no idea whether she’d done it on purpose. But he was grateful for it either way.

Kristen took a step forward, and Jessica was immediately backtracking to get out of the way. She arranged the wheelchair so it was aligned next to the bed. “You ready?” He said nothing, but by this point, she wasn’t expecting anything. She just leaned down, pressing one of the buttons on his siderails. He fought not to grimace from the uncomfortable pressure that was immediately being applied to his abdomen as the head began to elevate. If she noticed his pain, she gave no sign. “We’re gonna start you off sitting up high, okay?” she just prompted. “From there, we can transfer to the wheelchair easier.”

By the time he was sitting at a ninety-degree angle, he was already breathing shallower. There was a dull yet shooting pain stabbing into his abdomen. Sitting up itself was difficult, and yet they wanted him to _move. _Kristen and Erin both positioned themselves flush to the mattress, reaching out to help him. Kristen grabbed his wrist and began to guide it towards her. “Grab this railing, Malcolm. You’re gonna kinda roll to the side, here.” He grimaced, biting down on a cry and the urge to snatch his arm away. Jessica saw the jolt of fear and discomfort. Her eyes rounded out, but she stayed silent.

She watched her son struggle. And it _was _such a struggle. Even before he turned all the way, even with Erin helping to pull him so he wasn’t doing all the work, he was trembling and taking in shivering after shivering breath. By the time he dragged himself to the edge of the bed, his forehead was beaded with sweat. He trembled and shook, looking like he wanted to give up. Kristen was encouraging him the whole way. “That’s it, you’re doing great! Slowly but surely— keep taking those deep breaths in and out. In…and out, you can do it.” He tried. But the breaths were so frantic and thin that they wheezed pathetically down his throat. Each one stabbed through Jessica’s heart.

Eventually, he managed to sit up on the edge of the bed. He was swaying and hissing both in pain and desperation. His expression was creased in agony, and he was forced to cling pathetically to Erin’s arm, purely so he wouldn’t immediately fall back down. She was bracing him, though, remaining just as bright as her partner was. “Take a couple deep breaths— that’s it,” she soothed, Kristen stepping back to run and get something. “We’re gonna take a tiny break, but then we’re gonna just bite the bullet and get you in the wheelchair, okay?”

“I can’t!” he choked, every word ragged and desperate. Jessica cringed, turning away even more. But she still heard her son and how forlorn and hopeless he sounded. How he was practically begging them to stop. “I can’t get up, I can’t even— I can’t even sit up!” he gasped.

“That’s alright— we’ll do all the lifting!” she reassured, perking as Kristen rushed back. “Here, look.” Kristen ducked close to him, again, without warning. He jerked, looking like he was almost ready to smack her away out of habit at the unexpected proximity. It was mostly due to him clinging to Erin that he couldn’t. In her arms, Kristen held a plastic belt. He cringed when she quickly wound it around his chest. She had to tighten it so much to make it fit, the whole belt was practically hanging off him. But she made it work, withdrawing with a smile as she worked her fingers underneath the strap. Erin did the same— he was fast to latch onto her arm, when she took her hand away.

“We’re gonna use this belt to make sure you won’t fall,” Erin reassured, sensing his spark of panic. He was staring wide-eyed at the floor, overwhelmed. It was heartbreaking, to see, how much he didn’t want to do this. “We’re going to lift you up, okay? Just pivot you to the wheelchair— it’ll hurt for a second, but it’ll only _take _a second, okay? Ready?” He shook his head fast. The two glanced at each other a little guiltily, before Erin said an apologetic: “We’ll go on three.” He shook his head again, but they were already counting. “One…two…

“Three!” They both pulled Malcolm up. Immediately, he was crying out, staggering and stumbling as legs that hadn’t worked for practically eight months were suddenly trying to get themselves underneath him again. Of course, he couldn’t put much weight on them at all, especially when you take into account the freshly-healing fractures in both ankles. But that was alright; he was so light, they probably could have carried him to the bathroom, bypassing the wheelchair in entirety. They took their time, making sure he was okay as they pivoted him to the wheelchair.

His eyes were wild with panic as he swayed, fighting to cling to Erin, still. Standing was so foreign to him, and so was the mere idea of his legs giving out. He stumbled, grabbing at her shoulder. He was so scared he wasn’t even thinking. His begs were weak and fervid as he gasped against her shirt: “Don’t let me fall!” Jessica could barely hear him, he was hissing so quietly. But when she made out his words, she flinched and closed her eyes again. She had a horrible taste in her mouth that she had to swallow back. Thankfully, they were fast to set him down again. To put her son in the wheelchair and at least take _that _stress away from him.

He was gasping, ragged and panicked as he stared wide-eyed ahead. His face was pale and he remained shaky. Erin looked at him sympathetically. “You did it!” she cheered. There was no triumph or happiness on her son’s face; it was just blank, empty exhaustion. For right now, anyway. For some reason, Jessica was certain that it was a better alternative to what _could _be on his face. She walked closer, her heart sinking when she saw how sweaty he already was, and how sick he already appeared. “Now we can get to the bathroom. One more transfer, and you’ll be all done for a while. You’ll have nothing but a nice bath to look forward to!” Erin encouraged.

Malcolm said nothing, just trying to get his wind back.

Jessica approached him slowly, coming around the side of him, far enough away so that she wouldn’t frighten him by coming out of nowhere. Sure enough, her son’s eyes flickered to her fast, but they weren’t filled with fear. They _were, _however, fast to fill up with embarrassment and something far too close to shame, when their eyes met. Immediately, she softened, sorrowful and guilty as she crouched down and reached up to press her hand to his cheek. For a moment they sat like that, the only sound Malcolm’s hitched breathing. Her chest tore, and her eyes stung. She smiled. Lovingly. Adoringly. Her voice was warm when she shook her head and murmured: “I’m _very_ proud of you, darling.”

His eyes flashed. He gave the reply she knew he would. “I didn’ do anything,” he gasped unevenly.

She shook her head again. “No…you’ve done _everything.” _

He eyed her for a couple of moments, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to believe her. But then, they lightened. The corner of his lips twitched upward in a barely-there smile she had to search for just to see. But it was something, at least. She beamed when she saw it, more than happy to take this tiny little bit. She stood and bent down, to plant a kiss on his forehead. She let her hand slide down and off his cheek, like she was regretting the fact she had to let go. He smiled a little more, with the lingering touch. She tried to keep that smile in mind when it disappeared, as soon as Kristen began to push him out.

Thankfully, Jessica had had the foresight to choose a study across the hall from one of their bathrooms. They got inside, and sure enough, Ainsley had made true to the promise she hadn’t even made— that Malcolm had simply anticipated. The room was hot already from the steam given off by the water. She’d lined up about five different body washes and two different shampoos and conditioners. She’d even went to the trouble of putting in bubble bath that looked about two squirts too much, going by the height of the bubbles. She was just laying out his clean pajamas when they rolled in.

She lit up at the sight of her brother in the wheelchair. She beamed from ear to ear, which for some reason made his chest tighten uncomfortably. “Look at you!” The feeling in his chest just got worse. He wanted nothing more than to be able to just stand up. She rushed over to inspect it, like she’d never seen such a contraption before. She looked back at him and seemed to pick up on his discomfort. She wilted for a moment, before she lit up again, making her expression more mischievous when she asked: “So when are you gonna be able to pop wheelies on it?”

_This_ got him to crack a smile. A small one, but a genuine one.

She clapped her hands, gesturing to all the work she’d done. “I got everything for you! Or, I tried to, anyway,” she said. He looked at it all in silence. That heavy feeling was coming back. He had no idea why. “I got everything I could think of. Oh! And look!” She plucked up one of the body wash bottles to show him. It proclaimed in fancy letting: ‘Peace and Relaxation.’ Seemed very legit. “I bought a bunch of these for you!” she declared proudly. “We can test them out, one by one!”

He drafted up a smile. But his voice was soft when he murmured: “Thanks, Ains.”

That was all he offered. It was all she was wanting, though. She grinned back at him, nodding. “You’re welcome.” For a second, there was silence, before she realized herself and gave a little laugh. She turned and put the bottle back. “Oh, duh,” she giggled. “I’ll pop out.” The heaviness was only layering on his shoulders. Malcolm was beginning to understand why. His stomach wrapped up into knots. She was already heading out, though, tapping his shoulder as she went and chirping: “I’ll go feed Sunshine! And use her to bother Mom some more.” She was gone in less than two seconds. Malcolm didn’t watch her go. He was staring at the bath, dread suddenly thick in his veins.

He didn’t move.

Erin closed the door. The click seemed very loud.

“Alright…” Kristen sighed, going over and testing the water’s temperature. She made a face, turning on the cold water to try and even it out a little more. “Let’s make this a little less scalding…” Malcolm felt his heartbeat in his ears. His right hand was beginning to shake. He balled it into a fist, but it didn’t help much. “I bet you’re looking forward to—” She frowned, perking when she saw his building, unavoidable distress. She shut off the water, straightening again. She tilted her head to the side. “Malcolm? …What’s wrong?” Erin was walking back, too. The pair stared at him with the same confusion. It just made it worse.

“I…” His mouth felt dry. He looked from them, to the water. His breathing was beginning to pick up, his stomach suddenly deciding it wanted to be a pretzel. “I…um…” Panic was burning like coals in his blood. It was getting harder to breathe. Tears were pricking at his eyes. He saw the signs of a panic attack and he was struggling to pump the brakes, but he couldn’t. The fact they were looking at him so closely was making it impossible. “I don’t— want— I _can’t—” _He cringed, ducking low. His entire body was starting to tremble, right along with his hands.

Erin realized the issue before Kristen. She wilted in sorrowful understanding. After hesitating for a moment, she crouched down, like Jessica had done, so she was more on his level. He met her gaze reluctantly. She tried to smile at him, but it was too sad to pass. “You don’t have to get all the way undressed, Malcolm,” she murmured. He stared at her with clear distrust. “You can take just the gown off if you’re okay with that,” she promised. He did nothing but stare at her. Her voice was quiet when she pressed herself to add: “You can leave your underwear on, if it would make you more comfortable.”

He hesitated too, staring at her dismally. He was fast to look away, back at the water. Tears stung his eyes even more. It was ages, before he brought himself to nod— just once, very quickly and very slight. Kristen nodded too, drawing away. Sensing he needed a moment, they stepped away. He stared fixedly at the tub, and the bubbles that would also help him feel more protected. He wondered if Ainsley had done _that_ on purpose, too. He wondered if he _wanted _to know.

He decided he didn’t. He _really_ didn’t.

He just closed his eyes, taking in another shivering, unsteady breath.

He forced himself to reach up with his trembling hand to grab at his left sleeve.

Biting down on everything else and forcing himself to keep from crying or throwing up or both, as he pulled down.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He was half-asleep. After everything, he could barely keep his eyes open.

He’d spent nearly an hour and a half in the bath. At first, they’d emptied the tub and refilled it because the water had gotten too dirty…twice. But then they did it simply just to keep him warm. Once he was in, Malcolm wanted _nothing_ to do with getting out. Even when he was through getting clean, he just laid back against the tub, his head tipped back and a peaceful expression on his face. He’d fallen asleep a couple times, just relishing in the feel of the water. In the feel of being clean.

He’d left his underwear on. By the time he’d gotten out of the bathtub he was so out of it and half-aware that he didn’t even really notice when they changed the sopping one out for a new pair. He didn’t notice them putting on the new pajamas, either. When they rolled him back into the room, his eyes were still closed and his head was lolling just a little— dipping forward every so often as he nodded off. He didn’t react when the two physical therapists gingerly picked him up again to lay him in the bed, which Louisa had donned with new everything— sheets, and blankets, and comforters and pillows. He’d collapsed back into it with a loud, grateful sigh.

The second the therapists laid him down, Jessica was on her feet and rushing to him, grabbing the blankets and quickly setting to work tucking him in like she used to when he was little. She had every movement down— she knew he liked them up near his chin, tucked in around the sides of his shoulders more, rather than the top. She knew that the blankets would still be warm, too— she’d asked Louisa to stick them back in the dryer for a couple minutes. She could tell Malcolm noticed— her heart shattered when she saw the tiny, worn smile that traced its way over his face.

She tucked him in and gently let her hand smooth over his forehead and down the side of his face. He relaxed, with her touch, letting out another sigh. His head lolled a bit more on the pillow. Her smile was watery, when she brushed some of his hair back, still wet from the bath. “Do you feel better, sweetheart?” she murmured. He sighed again, and just offered the tiniest of nods— slow, and dragging. Once he was through, his head fell to the side again. She beamed, letting her fingers drift down his face, lingering and resting there. “Good…” She drew the blanket up even more, making sure it would stay. She bent low and kissed his forehead, keeping her lips there and murmuring against his skin: “Go to sleep, darling…”

He sighed once more and opened his mouth, like he was going to say something back. But he was too tired. It died on his tongue and instead, he just relaxed the rest of the way. He went limp, and his eyes stopped trying to open. His breathing turned deep and regular almost immediately. She softened when she realized he fell asleep, pulling away and looking at her son, peaceful and looking like _himself_. It warmed her heart. It made her smile.

It made everything seem brighter, somehow.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Sunshine’s little feet made pattering noises against the blankets as she ran up and down the bed. She alternated between hopping and flying, but either one, and she was zooming as fast as she could. There was no real objective in her sprinting, but she seemed to consider that there was one. Why else would she be going so fast? Ainsley thought it was hilarious. Her eyes tracked her like she was ball in a tennis match. Malcolm was watching her too. He was laying down, but thankfully he was slanted so that he could see her.

“She’s awfully determined,” Ainsley remarked with a giggle. She glanced at him and smirked more when she tacked on: “She must get it from her dad.”

His smile got a little bigger. But it was fast to fade. She frowned, when she saw the grin drop. When she saw sorrow and nervousness leak into his gaze instead. He’d looked that way for a while, now. She had no idea why; she was too scared to ask, though she knew she should. She was guilty in taking after her mother: in being too fearful of prying, just in case it would set him back. She started to at least try and think of something else she might be able to say, to get his thoughts away from wherever dangerous place they might be straying. When he interrupted her instead.

His voice was soft. It betrayed all the emotions he was trying to keep hidden.

“Ains, can I borrow your phone again?”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The _instant_ he saw her name pop up on his phone he was rushing to answer.

“Ainsley?” Gil demanded, not a second after he yanked the phone up to his ear. She didn’t answer right away, so he was pressing on, his voice only growing tenser— more scared. “What’s going on, is everything okay? How is Malcolm? Did something happen?” He hadn’t heard from anyone in _days. _What was she suddenly calling him for? He was going through everything that could possibly be wrong: Malcolm was sick, he was getting worse, it was his arm— it was infected again, he needed to go in for another surgery. Gil had absolutely nothing at his disposal, and yet he was already beginning to panic— to breathe faster, to feel that burning set into his eyes.

Everything screeched to a stop when he heard his voice. “Hi…Gil…”

He jerked, slapped right across the face when he heard him. Sitting there on his couch staring wide-eyed off into space, Gil felt a horrible sense of déjà vu, when he unexpectedly heard the kid’s voice. It was just like before, when he’d answered the unknown number just to hear him for the first time in months. He felt the same hollow shock. The same tearing, _ripping_ pain in his chest. He was shocked into complete silence. All he could was stare, his mouth slightly open.

A couple of seconds of this silence was too much for Malcolm. His voice was much more pained when he pressed a wary: “…Gil…? …Hello?”

A shiver lanced down his spine, at the familiar words. He fought to get himself out of it. “I’m—” He closed his eyes tightly, taking in a deep breath. When he opened them again and spoke, all of a sudden he felt a yanking sense of unreasonable fear. Wondering whether or not Malcolm could hear him on the other line, this time. He knew he would. But the thought still occurred. Still scared him. “I’m here,” he managed. “Are— you’re…calling me…” It was the only thing that could manage to get out. _Days _of nothing— of him regretting every little thing he’d done, said, the way he’d _looked at him, _even. And now it was him. He was here, all of a sudden. Without warning.

Again.

“Yeah.” The reply was reluctant. Gil breathed a sigh of relief when he realized he could hear him. “Is…that okay?”

“It’s— _yeah, _of _course _it is,” he blustered. “I— just— I wasn’t…expecting it,” he eventually got out.

There was another pause, before Malcolm admitted softly: “I wanted to see…if it was any different. If it felt any different. To talk to you.”

Once Gil realized what he meant, guilt was sinking its claws into him. It took a while for him to be able to get his voice back enough to ask, “Is it?”

He took his time answering.

But then he did. “Yeah.” The one word was like a punch to the gut. It sent Gil reeling so violently he barely heard him when he continued. “It is. But…_everything _feels different. Every_one_ does, too…so…” There was so much sorrow in that simple ‘So.’ The simple ‘so’ that was not so simple at all. There was so much emptiness and loneliness. Resignation. Gil squeezed his eyes shut. It had only been a couple of days, but it felt like years since he’d seen him. _All _he wanted to do was see him. Make sure he was okay. Beg for forgiveness, because if he _wasn’t, _then he was certainly to blame for that.

He did it now, as best he could. “I’m…Bright, I’m…so sorry.” Already, his voice was almost too thick to get out of his throat. Malcolm was dead silent. Gil wondered if this was how it had sounded to him, when he’d called him from that cabin. Like nothing was there. Like he was all alone. That thought was the breaking point— tears began to roll down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, failing pretty majorly at not being able to hold himself together. “I…was selfish, I wasn’t thinking, I— if I could do everything over again, Bright, I wouldn’t do it. I’m so sorry.” And he meant that. Every night since he’d watched those recordings, they had plagued his nightmares— every single one of them. Every time he _blinked _he saw Malcolm crying, saw him being hurt. It made him sick with rage and sorrow all the same time.

Malcolm’s voice was even softer. “I don’t want to know what you saw,” he murmured. Gil sobered, not able to hide his sniff when he sat back a little. Malcolm’s voice was getting choked, too. He could hear him biting back tears when he said: “I just want to know that it won’t change anything. That…you’ll still…” He didn’t finish. But Gil got it.

He stared across the room, his heart heavy as stone with regret and love alike. Each emotion was wrapping a chokehold around his throat. He was giving him an out. This entire time, Gil had spent entire nights crying, thinking he’d lost Malcolm— knowing he _deserved _to lose him. Now, he was coming back to him. Over the phone, not yet ready to do it in person. But that was alright; it was more than he thought he was going to get. It was enough to send him over the moon. Enough to make him forget he had to reply, even. He realized with a jolt a couple of seconds had gone by without him speaking. He quickly jerked himself back into reality, shaking his head like he was trying to manually clear it.

“No…_no_, Malcolm…” He felt horrible that Malcolm was worried about it. He felt horrible that there was some truth to the fear. Some harsh reality. But he remembered what JT had said. ‘I saw _him.’_ Gil hadn’t. That first time he had seen him after seeing those recordings, _all_ he had seen was what had been on the screen. The horrible, agonizing torture. It would take some getting used to, to keep that separate. But now that he had gone through the fear of losing the rest of him, he knew better now. He didn’t _want _to just see that victim. He wanted to see his _kid_. He wanted to see Bright, and see him laugh and smile and get _better _like he deserved. He wanted to be there to see that, and to help. He wanted to be a part of the reason he got better again.

“No,” he repeated. “It won’t change anything. I promise.”

Malcolm was silent. He could _feel_ his doubt on the other line.

Gil softened, another sting of tears rushing to fill his eyes. “It won’t be any different…you’ll still be my kid.” His voice cracked. He didn’t even care. He just smiled, a tearful, watery grin. And repeated himself. “You’ll _always_ be my kid, Bright. No matter what.”

Silence again. His smile started to fade, as he wondered if he’d said the wrong thing.

But then Malcolm spoke. His voice warm. A smile of his own in it. “Okay,” he said simply.

Gil beamed, relief and love crashing into him like a wave. More tears rushed down his face.

It fell silent again, but this silence was alright. It was welcome.

Because at least _this _time, the silence didn’t matter.

_This _time, they could both still hear the other loud and clear, on the other line.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“The damage is…extensive.”

_Feel like you could be talking about anything, but okay, _Malcolm thought bitterly, closing his mouth.

The dentist stared at him levelly, like he was trying to size him up. Jessica was lingering over his shoulder like a vulture. At-home visits for doctors weren’t heard of in this day and age— leave it to Jessica Whitly to have not only doctors come to visit him, but _dentists, _too. She had gone into this with high hopes— he could practically see each and every bit of her optimism fracture and break away into nothing. He could have told her this was how it would go. The pain centered deep in his jaw was just getting worse and worse every single day. Just _speaking _hurt him, now. There was a blistering headache centered deep into the back of his head. _Pulsating_ with agony.

The dentist kept staring at him, like he was trying to figure something out. When he spoke again, his voice was just as slow and hesitant. “With teeth like these…a majority of them _will _have to be removed, most likely. Maybe some we can save with a root canal.” Malcolm found himself looking away. “I’ll of course, have to get a better look to know for sure— some x-rays, some visuals…some look like they might be able to be salvaged. But it will be quite the surgery…” His eyes were filled with regret, as if he sincerely felt bad. Oddly enough, it didn’t really make Malcolm feel any better.

“What are our options?” Jessica pressed anxiously. “For— for replacements?” The word stuck.

He took in a slow breath, redirecting his attention to her. Malcolm didn’t fault him for it. “Well…there are a couple of options. After…extraction of the teeth that are rotted, which is better to do sooner, rather than later, to prevent infection, you have options on what sorts of dentures or replacement teeth you’d like to go for. There are many different types— they can be implanted, they can rest on your gums, or they can attach by clasps to _existing_ teeth. The price tag will differ depending on which one you choose, obviously.”

She looked from him to her son, who still wasn’t looking at them. “Well— well, we want the implanted ones, _don’t_ we?” she asked. He started to open his mouth and answer her, but she was already sweeping onto her next question. “How— how long will it take to get those? From the— from the— extraction?” The word came slower to her, like she couldn’t get it out. Malcolm’s eyes flickered to her. He felt a flash of guilt when he saw how tired she looked. How strained, and exhausted.

_He_ was making her feel that way.

He looked away again, when the dentist answered. “The…gums usually take six to eight weeks to heal fully,” he answered slowly. Jessica started to stiffen; he was fast to rush on and reassure her. “In between the extraction and the implantation, we _can _supply temporary teeth in the meantime. We call them dental flippers— it’s like a retainer that you pop into place in your mouth, so that while we create the best-fit implantations, you’ll have teeth there in the spaces.” He looked at Malcolm and smiled a little. “We won’t leave you high and dry,” he promised.

_Well, gee, thanks, _he thought to himself. But outwardly, he stayed unaffected.

“And the…extraction?” she asked. “That’ll be…?”

“First we’ll have to pull all the teeth that aren’t salvageable,” he said. “Which, admittedly, looks like it will be quite a lot. He won’t be able to have solid food for quite a while after the extraction— I’m afraid you’re going to be in a lot of pain,” he added, more sympathetically. Again, Malcolm didn’t react. “And…it’s always different, but for a procedure that will be as extensive as _this, _I personally would recommend being put out completely for the surgery…which isn’t something I usually do.” He hesitated, looking Malcolm over again. He seemed a little warier when he added: “So long as we deem it safe for you to put under general anesthesia.” He glanced back at Jessica. “But that’ll come with its own repercussions.”

_This, _Malcolm stiffened at. He looked over at him and swallowed hard at the mere thought of being put out. Jessica seemed to catch his nervousness. She tried to shoot him an encouraging look but he was fast to turn away again. His expression was clouding over. In the dark recesses of his mind, he remembered Winston holding him down. Planting his wrists to the ground and stabbing him with a syringe. He remembered fighting, screaming, begging, all at one time as his efforts to fight and throw him off grew weaker and weaker. Shutting down against his will.

Jessica saw the haunted expression he wore. Her stomach clenched, but after a heartbeat, she turned and looked at the dentist. Shaking her head to clear it, she took a few steps forward, thrusting out her hand. “Thank you,” she said, abruptly and flatly. He perked, looking a little surprised. She felt bad, cutting this meeting so short. Yet the look that was on her son’s face told her that he was finished with this, and if he was finished, she wasn’t going to try and force it. She was going to do what he wanted her to. So she just smiled politely and took his hand in hers, shaking it. “I appreciate your time, we’ll look over everything you’ve left for us— we’ll get back to you shortly.”

“I—” He seemed a bit blindsided. But looking between her and her son, he seemed to realize. A bit of understanding dawned over him, and she felt a fractional sense of relief when he just nodded, and gave in. “Right. Alright. I’ll look forward to it.” He turned, looking over to Malcolm who was still staring off to the side. He started to open his mouth, like he was going to say something to him, too.

Jessica stepped in before he could. “Louisa is just out in the hall; she’ll show you to the door,” she said, not leaving much room for objection. He frowned a little, but she just stepped to the side. He got the message. He ducked his head in a small nod, and walked for the door. She watched him go, relieved when he shut it behind him and left them alone. She made sure he was gone for good, before she deflated and looked back at Malcolm. She softened with a terrible kind of sorrow.

She walked over to him; though she took the seat beside him, he didn’t look at her. He kept staring off into space. She tried to smile for him, though the look was strained. “Sweetheart…” she tried. He didn’t rouse. She swore she saw his lips tremble, but that was it. His eyes were getting glassier. Her heart tore. Reluctantly, she reached out and put her hand on top of his. Still, he didn’t look at her. She leaned just a little closer, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand. “Sweetheart…it’ll be alright…” His lips trembled, more violently this time. The tears built in his eyes. Her voice grew more injured. “We’re going to figure it out, darling,” she promised softly. “Everything’s going to be fine. Trust me.”

He said nothing. He kept staring.

But gradually, his expression broke and crumbled. It all welled up on his face, to see. All his sorrow, his anger, his regret, his bone-shaking _fear. _He hung his head, trying to hold back his crying but quickly beginning to let out weak, hitched sobs. It said everything he couldn’t. It related everything that was too hard to put into words. She didn’t press him for anything else. She didn’t try to push, or reiterate about how everything was going to be okay. She just scooted closer and held his hand tighter, bracing herself against his quiet sobbing and did everything she could for him.

Which, in this case, was simply being there for him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_Hey, nerd. Mom told me she finally got you a new phone._

**And your first impulse is to text me and call me a nerd.**

_Well, I knew you needed a distraction from staring at the wall. _

…

_You’re not just staring at the wall, are you?_

**Well, I’m now staring at the other wall. It’s different. I don’t expect you to understand.**

_Ah. Well. Now you can text me. Your lovely sister._

**Introduce me to her, first.**

_Har, har._

_…_

_Have you gotten up anymore at all today? What all have you been doing?_

**Tired. Everything hurts.**

_That’s what you said to avoid getting up yesterday. _

**Call me a nerd and then interrogate me. You’re a lovely conversationalist.**

_Malcolm._

**Do you know how hard it is to text with one hand? **

_I do it all the time. It’s not rocket science._

**Well do it with a broken left arm, a mouth that feels like needles are stabbing into it, a headache that makes you want to scream, a stabbing in your abdomen, aching in your legs, a sore throat, and an upset stomach and get back to me on how easy it is. I’ll be interested to hear.**

_I’m sorry. You’re right. That’s not fair of me._

**No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t being fair either. **

_Do you feel sick? Have you told Mom?_

**You know how she gets.**

_If you’re feeling sick, it’s a big deal, Malcolm._

**It’s fine. I’m fine.**

_Well. I have to go back to work. If you feel any worse, tell Mom. Either you will, or I will._

**Yup.**

_I’ll see you when I get back home._

**Bye.**

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

**Hi.**

_Who is this?_

**It’s Malcolm.**

_Malcolm? Your number changed?_

**I got a new one. Seems I’ve misplaced my last one.**

_How have you been?_

**I’m fine. Dani…I wanted to say sorry. For the other day. It was a mess.**

_Malcolm, don’t apologize. Really. I’m just happy you’re doing better. From what I hear._

**It’s slow going. But it’s going.** A pause. **How is everything out there?**

_Same old. You know how it is._

She was being vague. He noticed. But he tried his best to pretend he didn’t.

**I wanted to ask you something.**

_Of course. Anything._

It was nearly ten minutes before he replied. **Did you watch any of those recordings?**

She stuck to sincerity without hesitation. _I watched the first couple of yours. Then the job was given to JT. I did watch some of the others, though. Kaelyn’s. And Bennet’s. _A pause, before: _I didn’t see much. I didn’t want to. _

**Oh. Okay. **Then he texted her something she hadn’t expected. **I watched some of those, too.**

_Your recordings? _

**No. Or…not that I can remember. The others’. I think at one point he must have shown me some. I don’t remember why or how, but…I’m pretty sure I saw some of them.**

_You’re remembering more?_

**A little more each day, I think. Which is terrifying in its own right. But.**

_I get it._

**I wanted to say sorry.**

_Don’t apologize about the other day, Bright. I told you, it’s fine._

**No, not about that. About that last night. When you dropped me off.**

_What about it?_

**Our dinner. I stood you up.**

For some reason, she found herself smiling. Widely, from ear to ear.

_I’ll try not to hold it against you._

**It was very rude of me.**

_True. But you can make it up to me. We can go out some other time. Once you’re up for it._

**We can?**

_Sure. You owe me it, anyway, don’t you?_

**I suppose.**

_Well, then. There’s your answer._

He grinned, staring at the phone screen. He laughed a little, under his breath.

Jessica roused, looking up from the drawers she was organizing. She looked at her son and her eyes went soft when she saw his little smile. Her heart melted at his laugh. She turned away fast, just in case he might look up and catch her staring. But even when she did, the smile lingered there on her face.

Just like Malcolm’s smile lingered on his.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_He was so small._

_He was so fragile._

_He was _hers.

_Ever since she was little, Jessica had fantasized about having a baby. Someone to hold, and love. A little girl to dress up in a flowery dress— a little boy to tie a bowtie onto. She’d lived her entire life wanting one, and now he’d finally come. Malcolm Whitly…that was the name they’d decided on, and to her, a more perfect name had never existed before in the history of the world. It was perfect…just like _he _was perfect. _

_He was on the smaller side…seven pounds and seven ounces. He had so much dark hair that was soft as down. The hospital had fitted him a light blue hat that matched his blankets, but she never put it on him. She would much rather cradle him close in her arm, letting his head rest against her chest right over her heartbeat as she drew her fingers lovingly and lightly through the tiny strands. He loved being right there, with her. It was where he stopped crying— where he relaxed and, always with a little sigh, where he would fall asleep on the spot. _

_He was so happy, so quiet. When he’d been born, he’d screamed and cried as every baby did— but the very _instant_ they’d handed him to her, he’d stopped. He’d fallen still and silent, breathing tearful pants of relief that he was back where he belonged. From there, he would only be calm if either she or Martin was holding him. Anybody else, and he would start sniffling and gasping and crying. But never in her arms— never in his father’s._

_Once, a nurse had picked him up from his bassinet and he had started wailing. Martin had immediately gotten up to take him back. Malcolm had stopped immediately, and her husband’s eyes had gone so soft and tender. His smile had been filled with so much love when he looked down at the little bundle he held. She’d watched, her chest hot with so much affection that it burned, as he’d smoothed back their son’s hair and murmured: “There’s my boy…”_

_It was late— somewhere past midnight but not quite three in the morning. Jessica was woken up by the sound of tiny wailing, growing in pitch and anger. She turned her head and lifted it to look towards him. The nurse was already grimacing. When she realized she’d woken up, she spoke in a whisper— an effort that was useless, considering Malcolm was now crying as loud as he could, pinched little squeaks that were rife with sadness and rage. He was swaddled, but she could see him trying to flail his arms and kick his legs. _

_“I’m sorry,” the nurse murmured. “I was just trying to assess him…”_

_She sighed out through her nose. But automatically began to melt, when she heard her baby’s sobs. Martin was so dead tired, he wasn’t even twitching at the crying— he stayed sound asleep. She sat up and reached out, working her hands gently underneath her son and lifting him to her carefully. He kept crying, not yet understanding it was her. But when she put him against her shoulder and rubbed his back, putting her lips to the top of his head and starting to rock just a little back and forth, he began to. “Shh…” His crying began to stutter. His little body began to relax as he started to sag into her. She kissed him lightly, keeping her lips there as she murmured: “You’re alright, darling…everything’s alright…”_

_His sobbing tapered until eventually, he was just gasping. He’d cried so hard so fast, he was out of breath. Every inhale was just a ragged hiccup. She smiled, a tiny, exhausted laugh working its way out of her mouth. She shifted him in her arms, so she could cradle him in both of them. It was dark, but even so, she could see his big eyes staring directly up at her. His blanket had fallen off him in the process of shifting him around— it left his arms freer. He reached up towards her, in tiny, jerking movements. She melted and grinned, holding him closer and ducking her head. He immediately reached up, clumsily trying to hold onto her face, like he wanted to keep her right there. _

_She beamed, kissing his nose as he continued to pat her cheeks. “Yeah…” she cooed, her voice high and adoring. “You’re okay, aren’t you? You’re okay…” He responded by letting out a huge yawn. She curled him closer, so that his head could rest on her chest again. Immediately, he hugged to her with one of his tiny arms. He closed his eyes and snuggled up, tired squeaks and little huffs working their way out of his mouth. He fell still and closed his eyes. He was already falling back asleep._

_The nurse smiled bashfully. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again._

_Jessica shook her head, murmuring softly, so she wouldn’t wake her son. “It’s alright.”_

_She looked between her and her baby, softening. “Looks like you’ve got a little sweetheart, there.”_

_Jessica melted once more, gingerly tucking some strands of his hair back so it was behind his ears. “Yes,” she whispered, aching with affection. “I guess I do.” Malcolm’s breathing hitched a little. His arms twitched, to hug to her more. She pulled the blankets back up over the both of them. She traced up and down the side of his face with the back of her finger, watching him breathe and feeling such a strong kick of love in the face of him that she could barely breathe, herself— that her eyes pricked with just the tiniest bit of pain. As she looked at the tiny life in her arms that was hers to protect— to make happy, to treasure. _

_She had known this person for less for 48 hours, but there was no doubt in her mind she would do anything to protect him. She would lay down her life for him. She would love him _fiercely. _Always._

_She had known him for less than 48 hours, but he was the light of her life. _

_He trusted her and loved her._

_And she would take care of him for as long as she possibly could._

“Mother.” She snapped out of it, jerking back to attention and blinking fast when she looked back over. Her son was staring up at her. With those same big blue eyes. He looked on-edge and doubtful. She tried to remember what he’d asked, but he was already repeating it. “How long are you going to be gone?” There was something small about the way he asked this. There was the tiniest hint of fear in the back of his eyes. He wasn’t saying so, but she could tell: the thought of her leaving was terrifying to him.

She smiled, as if she didn’t notice the painfully-obvious fact. “Not long,” she reassured. He still looked at her with that shadow of anxiety. “I just have to run to the dentist’s and then the pharmacy. I would send someone else to do it for me, but they need me there to sign some things— and the pharmacy is _once _again having a mix-up with your medications. It’s—” She broke off, before she could say what she was going to: _It’s difficult for them to keep everything straight because you have so many medications at once. _She took it back before it could get out. She knew how it would sound.

She just forced a smile. “It’s nothing,” she amended quickly. “I’ll be right back.”

He said nothing, eyeing her warily.

She didn’t want to leave, either. If she had it her way, she would never leave him again. She reached out and tucked his hair behind his ear, kissing the top of his head. The kiss lingered for a couple seconds; when she pulled away, he looked even more miserable. Her heart tore with regret. “Louisa will always be right down the hall, if you need anything,” she said. “I’ll be fast. An hour, if that. Alright?”

He stared at her for a couple more seconds. Before he looked down at the blankets and murmured a small: “Yeah.” The second he spoke in that dull mumble, he grimaced, shaking his head a little and murmuring a much more apologetic: “Sorry…”

She leaned down and kissed his head again. “Don’t be sorry.” He stayed quiet this time. She smiled and drew away with clear remorse. “I love you, darling,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” He just nodded.

But when she turned and left, she was very well aware of his stare burning a hole into her back.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~) 

Time was slow.

He knew that. And he hated it.

He remembered when Winston _wasn’t _there to hurt him. How it was almost _worse_— how the time dragged on and never sped up in the slightest. Every minute was like a knife dragging yet another slice through his skin. Every _second_ was salt thrown into the wound. It would make him want to scream, to cry, to tear his hair out, and that’s exactly how felt now. Lying in bed staring up at the ceiling, Malcolm felt on-edge and scared for no reason at all. He was tense, despite the pain it inflicted, as though he was ready to bolt up at a moment’s notice. He felt like he wanted to start sobbing and break down— like he was two seconds away from doing so. The severe headache he had was just making it worse. He hadn't even thought that was possible.

He passed ages like that, glancing frequently at the clock. Jessica had been gone for almost an hour, now. It _felt _like years, but it had only been a little less than an hour. When was she coming back? What was she doing? What was taking her so long?

_What happened to her, what if something happened to her? What if she’s not okay!? What if he—?_

He cringed, trying to shake it off. Reaching up with a trembling hand to run it down his face.

He let it fall back down on the bed with a thud. He went back to staring.

He was entertaining the idea of maybe trying to risk sleep, when he became aware of something. He roused, blinking a couple times and grimacing in a mix of discomfort and embarrassment. He raised his head a little, looking around. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, before he gave up and dropped his head again. Staring miserably up at the ceiling, he called out a meek: “Louisa?” He waited, that grimace staying on his face. But it fell away a little when there was no reply. He looked up again, calling out a little louder this time: “Louisa!?”

Nothing.

A sting of alarm rushed through him. Malcolm looked around, his face falling with uncertainty.

He _needed _to get up. But…he couldn’t— not without help.

But there _was _no help.

His eyes caught on the phone sitting on the bedside table. He hesitated, before he reached for it. He strained at the slight reach at the pain it lanced down his side. But he managed to grab it and pull it to him. He did the first thing he could think of and called his mother. He lifted the phone to his ear, his stomach slowly feeling more and more like a rock the longer this went on. He was shocked when she didn’t answer. He got _nothing. _Maybe she was busy talking to someone…signing things at the dentist, or screaming at some poor pharmacy tech. Maybe she just didn’t notice him trying to reach her.

But he _needed _to reach her.

He tried Ainsley. No dice— she was at work.

He let the phone fall. His heart was starting to pick up. He was beginning to realize that nothing was there to help him. But he couldn’t just lay here and wait— where _was _everyone!? Where was Louisa!?

His eyes flickered to the side, flashing, when they rested on his wheelchair. It was a couple feet away from his bed, just sitting there, temptingly. He couldn’t get up and walk on his own…but if he managed to get into the wheelchair…then he might have a chance. The only thing _was_, it was positioned so it was just out of his reach. He’d have to stretch in order to get there. He knew he didn’t have stretching _in_ him. But he also knew there wasn’t much of an option right now, anyway. So, hesitating for a couple seconds more, Malcolm took in a deep breath and reached over to sit the head of the bed up.

Already, he was in pain with the changing pressure on his abdomen. But he struggled to push it aside. Malcolm locked his jaw back and took a deep breath, holding it so he might not cry out so loud when he started to scoot himself over to the edge of the bed. He could only move in tiny, fractional shifts, and he could only use his right arm to help him. It was slow going. By the time he got near the edge he was shaky and trembling, feeling sick as he waited for the room to stop spinning so much before he did anything else. Once it did, he started to move his legs so they might swing over the side. He grimaced, crying out in pain and biting down on a couple sobs as he forced his body to turn. Everything in him, practically, was beginning him to stop. But he couldn’t. He _had _to get up.

He managed to dangle himself on the edge. He was gripping the railing tight, taking another moment to collect himself. He looked at the wheelchair, so far away and yet so close at the same time. His face was creased with desperation, like he was begging it to come closer on its own. He tried to think about how he was going to do this. Quickly, he to let go of the siderail and reach out, trying to grab it and pull it close. He was immediately gripping back onto the rail, though, catching himself before he could slip.

He grimaced, ducking his head and hissing through the pain that was nearly blinding him by now. He felt like he was going to be sick. He forced his head to lift and he narrowed his eyes against it all, trying again. He reached out fast and desperately, but couldn’t manage it. He wasn’t even close. Growing more and more frustrated, he looked all around again, before he looked down at the floor. His eyes flashed. He looked back at the wheelchair. Then back at himself. He knew he didn’t have an option. He knew he had to get moving and that this was the only way he had at the moment.

So he sucked in a deep, slow breath and started to push himself up to his feet.

He went slow, as if it would help.

But it didn’t matter. He didn’t even make it halfway up.

The moment his legs were forced to bear any sort of weight, they were crumbling. His knees buckled and he expected to fall back onto the hospital bed. But he was _just_ far enough off of it. Instead of landing on it, he landed _against _it. He realized half a second too late that he was going to hit the ground. He flailed, trying to grab onto the bed before he could, but it did nothing. All he managed to do was grab the blanket and yank it down with him. He hit the ground hard, the covers following.

The impact wouldn’t be much to anyone else, but it was paralyzing him. He hit the ground and pain wrapped around him immediately, punching him in the stomach. He cringed hard, agony creasing over his face as he cried out softly into the floor. His sides were on fire so much he could hardly breathe. His head was ringing even more than it usually did, after it had smacked into the hardwood. For a long moment, all he could do was lay there, too wrapped in pain to do anything else. When he snapped out of it, he tried to call out a thin, pain-filled: “Louisa!” Agony sliced into his head when he forced himself to yell.

She _still_ wasn’t coming.

He groaned, tears pricking at his eyes, both from pain and frustration. He tried to get himself back up but his body was suddenly too heavy to do anything else. All he could do was lay there. Pathetic and desperate and slowly panicking. Gasping, he perked when his eyes landed on something near him, under the blanket. He reached out and sure enough, his phone had been taken down with him. Despite everything, he felt nothing but relief when he realized. Quickly, he tried his mother again. Daring to hope that this time would be different and she would answer.

She didn’t. The answering machine was all that replied to him.

He hung up, groaning and pressing the phone to his forehead.

He was still for a moment, before anger burned to life inside of him and he let out a yell. Not thinking, he slammed the phone down again and again on the floor, screaming out in pain and anger that he couldn’t even _get up by himself. _He was absolutely _pathetic_, laying on the floor like this, not even able to _try _and get back up to the bed. He went still again, staring dismally off into space. His expression began to fracture. The anger melted to be replaced by sorrow, instead. He cringed and started to cry, his shoulders shaking with every punctured gasp.

What was he supposed to _do? _He couldn’t _move! _But he _had _to!

He needed someone that he knew would help him. That would be here as soon as they could.

He needed someone he knew would always answer, no matter what.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Gil threw himself up the steps and let himself into the house. He barely even closed the door behind him before he was running down the hall. “Malcolm!?” he called out. He didn’t answer, and he ran faster. “Malcolm, I’m here!” The second he had called him, he’d answered— the kid barely had time to finish asking him for help before he was out the door. He’d driven over as fast as he could. The silence on Malcolm’s end was making him think something horrible had happened between then and now, though. _“Malcolm!”_

Malcolm never answered and when Gil burst into the study and saw him on the ground, he was overcome with horror for a split second. He thought he’d passed out, that something had gone wrong, that he’d gotten here too late. But he staggered when he saw Malcolm shift just a little. He pulled the blankets tighter around himself. He was practically swallowed up in them, he was so small. He was laying on his side underneath, and though Gil called for him, he didn’t so much as glance in the direction of the door. He was staring straight ahead with an odd, upset look.

Gil rushed inside. “Malcolm— are you okay? I came as fast I could, kid, I’m— what were you _doing!?”_ He should know better than to try and get up by himself! He could have hurt something when he fell, there could be something majorly wrong now and they had no idea. Where in the hell was Louisa— why wasn’t she there to at least make sure he didn’t fall? His hyperactive, frantic mind was listing anything and everything that could be wrong with him. He could have gotten a concussion, he could have broken a bone, he could have—

“I was trying to get up.” Gil jerked, surprised when he heard how upset Malcolm sounded. Sure enough, when he looked at him, he realized there were tears streaming down his face. He’d been so alarmed before, he hadn’t even noticed. Now, it was plain as day. They were running trails down his cheeks, which were already soaking wet from the tears he’d cried up until this point. Gil’s heart plummeted, at the sight. His stomach was quick to sink right along with it.

_“Why, _kid?” he pressed gently, starting to crouch down beside him. He could pick him up and get him back into bed. He was as light as feather— it would be an easy fix.

Or maybe not.

Malcolm sniffed, choking back a swallow and refusing to look at him when he whispered a barely-there: “I…have to go to the bathroom…”

Gil stopped short, blinking rapidly. Understanding slapped him across the face. He felt horrible, when he saw his expression. How ashamed and embarrassed he sounded. Gil felt the tiniest inkling of anger towards Louisa, for not being there to help him when he needed it. But he pushed it aside for now. Instead, he just smiled, trying to look and sound as reassuring as possible. “Oh…well, that’s okay,” he reassured. Malcolm cringed. He started to reach down for him. “We can just go there, now. I can get you in your wheelchair. It’s an easy fix.”

He cringed again. Despite the reassurance, his expression stayed strained. He looked humiliated. He ducked even more and shook his head. When he spoke again, his voice was weak and trembling. There was miles of sorrow and disappointment, there, to hear. “I’m sorry…for— having to…” He couldn’t finish. He looked too sick to.

Gil felt almost ill, when he saw how much he was struggling. And yet at the same time, he felt unspeakable fury and _rage_ directed at Winston. He saw the man’s face in his mind’s eye and for a heartbeat, especially as he listened to Malcolm break down into a few more quiet sobs, he saw nothing but red. He wanted to beat the man to a pulp, for driving Malcolm to this point. For hurting him so badly he couldn’t even do this one thing on his own. For making him hurt and pain, when he deserved to be free from those things, now.

He was drawn back to the moment at hand when Malcolm sobbed a weak: “I’m so sorry…”

He jerked, shaking his head fast. “No! No, Malcolm, don’t— don’t apologize!” Malcolm could barely bring himself to look at him. He leaned down and smiled at him tenderly. “Don’t apologize, kid,” he insisted. “It’s okay.” Malcolm just wilted, looking away. Flinching deeply and shaking his head as more tears rushed down his cheeks. Gil’s smile fractured in pain, when he had to see him crumble. He leaned down a little more, trying to catch his eyes again. He did fleetingly.

Immediately, he put on a smile for him. “Hey. Kid.” Malcolm sniffed, breathing hitched when he reluctantly looked at him. He looked miserable and disgusted with himself. Gil struggled not to let on how much it hurt him to see. He had no idea if the effort was worth anything in the end. He hoped it was. He reached out, rubbing his shoulder affectionately. Bracingly. “It doesn’t matter,” he reassured softly. His doubt stayed. Gil just smiled more, against it. “It’s an easy fix, Bright. I don’t mind.”

Bright searched his face, still looking miserable. He sniffed, wiping his eyes.

. Gil went softer. He hoped his voice was steadier than he dreaded when he promised in a much quieter voice: “We’ll get through this, kid.” Malcolm’s eyes flashed. His lips shook and more tears welled up in his eyes. Gil gave him a bracing nod. “We will. I promise. You’ve got a _lot _of people behind you. That don’t mind helping— I’m one of them. Alright?” Malcolm did nothing, so he pressed: “Alright?” This time he nodded. Gil’s smile grew. “Alright then,” he reasoned. “Then I say we get you off of this floor. Yeah?” Malcolm just nodded again.

Gingerly, he got his arms underneath Bright and hoisted him up. He was even lighter than he _thought _he was. He felt like nothing— like air, in his arms. Malcolm instinctively wrapped his arm around his neck and held tight to him, tension stiff in his body as he feared falling. But Gil wasn’t about to let him fall. He turned for his wheelchair, walking the last couple of paces to it. He made sure he was arranged okay as she started to put him down. “Okay…there you go…” He started to pull away. But stopped short when he still felt Malcolm’s arm around his neck.

The kid’s face was pressed into his shoulder. So he hardly heard him when he whispered a tiny, choked: “Thanks, Gil…”

His eyes stung at the unexpected sentiment. It took him a second to get out the surprise. But when he did, he melted, and moved to hug him back, holding him gently but firmly. Squeezing him just enough so that he might be able to be persuaded he was actually there. That _Gil _was actually there, and being forgiven so easily, when he’d feared that wouldn’t be the case. He hugged him, rubbing his back. He ducked his head more into his shoulder when he replied with a slightly tearful: “Anytime, kid.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

His hands were trembling. He could barely breathe. His heart was ramming hard against his chest.

Jessica had been so hectic rushing around and getting everything together that she hadn’t noticed. It was much harder to pack without Louisa there to do it for her (once she had found our Jessica had blown a minor fuse; it was mostly thanks to Malcolm's frantic reassuring it was alright that she was put 'on leave' and not fired on the spot despite Jessica's clear preference). She’d packed everything in bags, just in case they might need it— she’d even gone so far as to pack Malcolm’s blanket in case he got cold or needed something from home. Gil hadn’t said anything the entire time, just dutifully helping her put basically the entire house into bags for the appointment today. He was there to help, after all— he was just glad that she let him be there, even _if _it was just because they needed someone to lift Malcolm in and out of his wheelchair.

But she noticed now when things were dying down. When Gil stepped out and started to actually load up the car, she saw her son and his obvious distress. His eyes were a little wider than normal. He was staring unblinkingly at the door, slightly ajar. The light from outside was seeping through the crack. The sliver of light barely reached him, but still, he was looking at it like he had never seen it before. She was confused at first, wondering what was wrong. Her initial thought was that he was just nervous about the procedure. When the realization hit her like a brick straight to the stomach.

She walked over to him, stopping at his side and reaching out to put her hand lightly on top of his, where it rested on the arm of the wheelchair. He looked up at her, the expression on his face strained. Her eyes softened sorrowfully. Her voice was soft. “Sweetheart?” He weakened. She drew her thumb soothingly across the back of his hand. “How are you doing?” she prompted.

He blinked again, looking from her, to the door. His voice was raspy and breathless. “I…” His right hand clenched, underneath hers. Her heart tore when she saw how much it was taking for him just to try and communicate. “I…haven’t…been outside,” he whispered. “I haven’t…been out in…public…” He looked mortified at the idea. She understood. She hated that she did, but she understood.

“It’ll be fast,” she promised in a murmur. He looked at her apprehensively. “In and out. I promise.”

He hesitated, before he gave a tiny, singular nod. The unease on his face didn’t change.

She offered him a smile before she rounded the wheelchair. She grabbed the handles and started to push, knowing Gil would be waiting on the other end once he was through loading the car to grab the other end of his wheelchair so they could get him down the stairs, together. Malcolm hunched his shoulders and stared miserably down at his lap, feeling absolutely useless and stupid. He wasn’t even _dressed— _he was still in his pajamas, purely because he was in too much pain to try and change into another outfit and didn’t want his mother to have to help dress him like he was two.

He didn’t know what he was more: scared, or embarrassed.

All he knew was that when Gil opened the door, he was recoiling away from the light, his breath catching hard in his throat and his entire body going rigid. The feeling of fresh air was so _strange. _The temperature change was almost a shock. It was warmer than he thought it would be. He could barely open his eyes against the glare— he had to ease them open bit by bit, and blink against the harsh light. His breathing was hitched and unsteady; Jessica came to a stop, to try and allow him time to get over the initial surprise. Gil’s expression fractured with the tiniest amount of pain when he saw the look on the kid’s face. The shock— the confusion, the subtle wistfulness of being outside again after more than a year.

His mouth was hanging open just a little, like he was reaching out to try and grab something to say. “It’s…” He looked down at himself, then back up. His voice sounded just the tiniest bit thicker than normal. Jessica and Gil allowed him the time to get it out. But before he could, suddenly a car was driving by on the street in front of them. It didn’t honk its horn. But at the sudden, unexpected roar, Malcolm was flinching away, recoiling like he’d been slapped across the face.

Immediately, Jessica was reaching down to hug him. Her heart shattered when she felt how severely he was shaking in her arms. He stayed hidden away, gasping like he’d finished running a marathon as he stared wide-eyed down at the pavement. Slowly, robotically, he turned to look at the road again. The car was just heading out of sight. His eyes flashed. Something changed in them. Gil’s heart dropped when he saw— when saw the tears begin to well up there. When he saw his lips shake, and his expression crumble in minimal amounts.

He didn’t shrug Jessica off. In fact, he held to her with his good arm, like he was asking her silently not to leave.

His voice was so choked it was hard to hear him when he finished weakly.

“It’s…not like I remember…”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He stared into space, his heart in his throat and his stomach in a knot. Everything was radio static to him. Everything was mumbled and far away. All the tests, all the images, all the conversations, he’d been numb to all of it. So when Jessica said something to him, he didn’t hear. He didn’t so much as blink. But he _did _react when she reached out and touched his shoulder. The instant he felt her, he was tensing and whirling around. She looked guilty, at his startle. But her voice was even more so when she asked: “Are you ready, darling?”

He looked down at himself. At some point, they’d rolled him up to the dentist’s chair. Everything was ready and waiting. All they were waiting for was _him, _apparently. He caught the eyes of the assistive woman; she was staring at him. The instant he looked in her direction, she was jerking and looking away, but the damage was done. Immediately, he was looking down at his lap, a wave of self-consciousness and shame hitting him in the gut. He felt like he was burning from the inside, out. Like he was going to be sick. He couldn’t tell what was the biggest driving factor: nerves, or shame. He imagined they would be equal.

Jessica caught the change and looked quickly in the direction he had, her gaze already sharp. She didn’t realize what it was that has set him so off. Her face fell, when she looked back at him. She opened her mouth like she was going to ask, but he shook his head once, quickly, looking fixedly off to the side, instead. The look on his face warned her not to ask. She wilted, but complied. She tried to smile again and squeezed his hand lightly. Lovingly. “Are you ready?” she asked again, gently.

He swallowed hard, but found it difficult; his mouth was so dry.

When he spoke, his voice was barely there. “Yeah…yeah, I’m…yeah,” he ended up settling on.

She softened sorrowfully, but nodded. She turned to look at Gil.

Malcolm deflated, looking up. Gil looked the tiniest bit regretful himself, simply because he knew how Malcolm would react to it. The younger’s expression began to seep with embarrassment, but he complied. He raised his right arm, stretching up reluctantly, already with a deep grimace. Gil bent low, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and working one underneath his knees, being careful and treating him like he was made of glass. He eased him up, and Malcolm flinched, locking his jaw back but wrapping his functioning arm around his neck. He clung to Gil as he picked him up, cradling him against his chest. When he was sat down in the examination chair, he still let his grip on him linger until he was for sure all the way settled. Only then, did he let go, with a shaking breath.

He mumbled a weak: “Thank you.” Not quite looking him in the eye.

Gil only nodded. He stepped back and glanced from him to Jessica. A little awkwardly, but mostly reluctantly, he said: “I should…probably go.” She nodded, only studying Malcolm. He looked back at him and softened a little. He reached out, taking care to be slow, and rubbed his shoulder. “I’ll see you after, kid,” he promised. “It’ll be real fast, for you. In and out. Over in a second.”

He offered a weak smile. A noncommittal nod.

He watched Gil leave the room. The second he did, the surgeon walked in. He was smiling from ear to ear. Malcolm was fast to look away. “Hello!” he chirped, despite the obvious discomfort that was heavy in the air. “Alright! We’re finally ready to…” He kept talking— Malcolm could hear his voice, but he couldn’t recognize the actual words. He was tuning everything out, again. It went once more back to radio static— nothing, and indistinct. He stared off into space, not even blinking. Feeling oddly numb as words echoed around in his head. Ringing in his ears, as if he could actually hear it.

_Open your mouth._

_Make it good._

_Don’t look away from the camera._

_This is all you’re good for, now…_

Pressure on his arm made him jerk violently back into awareness. His eyes flew huge when his head whipped back, his heart starting to pound against his ribcage. If he had to mobility, he would have scrambled to cower back against the chair. The anesthesiologist jerked away from him, her eyes wide and guilty, especially when Jessica reflexively threw out her arm to bar her from her son, with the harsh reaction. His breathing was hitched and shaking, each gasp trembling with terror.

She’d been trying to hook something to his IV— a saline flush, to determine whether or not the access his nurses had installed was still viable. She’d snatched her hands away, with his reaction. Her eyes were almost as wide as his were. The surgeon perked. Jessica hovered possessively over her son. He spoke up— the way his tone came across made it seem like this wasn’t the first time he’d said it. Though, to his credit, he tried to be gentle at the same time. “Malcolm…she just needs to test the patency first, before we administer the drug.” Malcolm’s breathing stayed hitched. He still eyed her. The man added a little more off-handedly: “You don’t want to go through this awake, Malcolm.”

It sounded threatening, the way he said it. It just made his skin crawl more.

But slowly, very slowly, he forced himself to relax. He sat back again. Only tensing just a little when the woman leaned back in again and hooked the needleless syringe into place. He looked away as she flushed it, and then drew away to prepare the infusion. He looked at his mother instead, who was faithfully sitting beside him. He knew she would move, as soon as he was put out. Or, that’s what he figured, anyway. The room was too small— the surgeon would need all the room he could get.

The thought was small, and passing. But it sent chills down his spine. Made his blood run cold.

The Surgeon…

It hit him like a punch. Something he hadn’t expected. Something he hadn’t had the chance to consider yet, with everything else. But here it was now. Making his heart pound harder. His hands shake more. His breath hitched in his throat. Jessica noticed and spiked with concern all over again. But before she could say anything, he was whispering. As if it was a secret, and he didn’t want anyone else to know. When in reality, it was just because he was so scared. Of _everything_. It was all building up, becoming too much. “What did he do?” he hissed, barely able to be heard.

Jessica’s face fell. Confusion clouded her gaze, instead. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Who?”

The name barely got out. He almost stuttered through it. “Martin Whitly,” he whispered quieter.

Her eyes widened. She just stared at him blankly for a couple of seconds. The woman was setting to work setting up his IV but now he wasn’t even paying attention— even when she began to program the pump. He looked at his mother like he’d never seen her before. Like he was begging for an answer. But all she could manage was, “What? Why…” She tried to smile again, but there was too much pain to make it right. “Darling, you…don’t need to worry about—”

“We’re ready,” the woman said. Malcolm looked quickly back at her.

The surgeon smiled, giving a nod. “Alright. Malcolm, you’re going to start to feel sleepy.” He looked down at his arm, realizing he was hooked up to the machine already. It was already starting. “Start counting backward from one hundred for us, okay?”

He didn’t. He just whipped his head around to look at Jessica. “What did he do while I was gone?” he demanded. She just stared at him in shock, her eyes wide and her mouth open. Struggling to reach for an answer she wasn’t even sure of herself. His desperation was mounting, right along with his panic. “Did he do _anything?” _The way he asked this broke her heart. Shattered it, into a million pieces. The way he was looking at her wasn’t helping, either. He searched her face, looking like he was fighting the urge to cry. “I was gone for a _year, _did he not _do anything!?”_

“W- We’ll talk after the surgery, darling,” she managed after a couple of seconds, very well aware of the audience members they had staring them down. She reached up to put her hand on his face, keeping his other in her own. She tried to soften, despite her anxiety. “That’s a very _large _can of worms to open right before you’re about to go under anesthesia…”

He looked down at his arm. At the drugs that were leaking into it. His breathing hitched again.

He _felt_ it— that slow, pulling sensation. The heaviness in his eyes. Like there were rocks pulling him down. He _hated _sedatives, but it was even worse now. He _knew _this feeling— he had _memorized _this feeling, over the months he’d been with Winston. As he watched the drugs trickle into his vein, a small whimper escaped him as he remembered being tugged back by the collar, forced to the ground, pinned as a needle was shoved into his neck, into his arm. Winston’s laughing echoing off the walls as he tried to get up and fight despite the drugs shutting his body down.

He felt the same, now. He felt the _exact _same.

He whimpered again, beginning to shake. Jessica rushed to scoot closer to him, and guide his face back to hers. He wasn’t trying to hide the fact he was crying now— that, or he just wasn’t aware enough to, anymore. She saw the fuzziness creeping over his face, but she also saw _fear _there, as well. Her son looked absolutely terrified. Before she could ask why, he was shaking his head, fumbling like he was trying to grab for her, but his movements were already too uncoordinated to. The woman that had set up his IV was fast to grab his arm and hold it down, so the line wouldn’t be torn open. It just made it worse— his expression began to crumble in desperate sorrow. He started to gasp, and move his legs like he wanted to get up.

“Malcolm! Malcolm— darling, look at me, _look at me,_” Jessica pleaded, her voice thick. His eyes were sliding shut but he still hyperventilated. She leaned down, trying to get one last look from him. “Darling— you’re _alright,” _she soothed. “Listen to me— you’re _just fine, _sweetheart, I promise, you—”

“N-…nnno, s’op…I ch’nge m’ min’…!” His voice was soft but it was horrified. He pried his eyes open. She could tell he wasn’t even there anymore. There was nothing to see, when he let his head fall towards her. They were practically rolled back into his head, yet he still fought to get out: “S…’m…” He expression broke. He jerked his arm again, but he wasn’t strong enough to get it back. Once he realized, and once the last bit of his consciousness began to blink out, he broke, and started to cry. Weakly and pitifully he tried to beg, “P…lea…please, ‘m…Moth— er…”

Jessica watched the entire thing with tears streaming down her face, rendered mute in her emotions. No sooner did he force this last bit out, was her son relaxing. His eyes slid closed and his expression relaxed. He fell silent and still.

The drugs had done their work.

But staring at him and feeling the yawning aching in her chest, Jessica found no relief in the fact whatsoever.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the very long break in between updates! School has punched me in the face and I wasn't really expecting it to get as bad as it has, but I've still been working on Absence in the meantime and now it's finally done! I hope you guys like this chapter a whole lot more than I do. A looooot of this chapter is building up for chapter eleven which I have big plans for so I hope you're all as excited for that as I am!!  
As always, thank you for reading and being so patient with me, I really appreciate it! I really hope you like this chapter and I hope if you do, I can hear from you in a review! ♡
> 
> And this chapter is meant to leave you with a couple questions/expectations so just sit tight...hopefully my next update won't take as long c':

Ever so slowly, he began to stir.

The very instant he began to rouse, Jessica was zeroing in on him. She’d been sitting at his side already, of course— she’d made sure to have everything squared away by the time to procedure was over. She had all the pamphlets, all their things, she had the payment finished and she had yet _another _prescription for pain medicine for her son. She’d gathered everything, double and triple-checking that everything was right and ready. After that, she had waited for everything to finish.

For them to finish ripping out fourteen of her son’s teeth.

When they did, she’d flown to his side again and held his hand, ready to soothe him. The moment she saw him, her heart was breaking. He was still under the effects of the medication so he wasn’t awake yet to feel anything…but just _looking _at him hurt. His mouth was swollen. She had no idea how he was even supposed to breathe, with that much gauze stuffed in his mouth. Though she didn’t have any idea how much he was still bleeding, considering they’d given her an entire box, warning her to replace them when they became too soaked with blood, she could only imagine it was a lot.

With a weary heart, she’d sat down beside him and waited, already stroking the back of his hand. It didn’t take long for him to wake up. She was almost surprised when his forehead creased and his head moved just a fraction. Gil perked, where he was standing behind her. He was faster to smile, watching Malcolm come back around. For some reason, Jessica was staying wary. She just looked at her son with apprehension as he came back to in minimal amounts.

She saw him struggling just to get his eyes to open. Her heart squeezed and she leaned out, slowly and gently brushing his bangs back. “Malcolm…” He didn’t really react. He looked too out of it, still. Her chest squeezed again, and she scooted a little closer. She held his hand a little tighter, too, hoping he might feel it. “Baby…” He stirred a little more. His head started to drag its way over to her. She saw a little more of his blue eyes flash as they pried open bit by bit. She smiled, pain hiding in the far reaches of the sentiment, as she remembered how scared and panicked he’d been when they’d put him under. She wondered if he remembered that— if he even knew what was going on, yet.

She reached back up to thread her fingers back through his hair. “Hey…” He got his eyes halfway open. They looked fuzzy and disoriented. Like he wasn’t even really looking at her, because he just couldn’t get his vision to steady. Even though he was laying down, his head still seemed to sway and dip. She wondered what they’d used to knock him out— how long it was going to stay like this. She tilted her head, trying to smile despite the pain burning her throat. She tried not to focus how unfair the situation was— having her son hurt even more and her being unable to do nothing about it. “How do you feel, darling?”

He just stared at her. His gaze stayed groggy and murky. He said nothing.

Gil’s voice surprised her. She glanced back at him over her shoulder when he asked: “How long is he supposed to be out of it?” She was a little surprised, when he asked the same question she was just about to. Gil started to look in her direction, apparently aware of her staring. Before their eyes could meet, though, she was turning to Malcolm, giving him another pained smile as she listened carefully for the doctor’s answer. Praying it would be a good one, for once.

But it wasn’t. Not really.

“Well…it’s always different for every person,” the man reasoned. “Some people it lasts the rest of the day…some it wears off in a few hours.” He glanced at Malcolm, who was staring at Jessica oddly, like he’d never seen her before. But like he was only half-curious about who she was, because he was still so tired. “Malcolm…we were worried about giving him too much with his weight the way it is, but he had a tolerance for the stuff, too. We had to use a little bit more than we were planning on, to get him through the procedure. So it might stick with him for a little bit longer.”

She tried not to notice the disappointment and sorrow that stabbed through her.

She tried to keep smiling, for her son. “How do you feel, sweetheart?” she repeated.

He blinked very slowly. So slowly, Jessica feared he was falling back asleep until he got his eyes halfway open again. He didn’t say anything. She was starting to get concerned. She scooted a little closer, practically flush against the chair by now. “Sweetheart…Malcolm, look at me,” she cooed. He did, thankfully enough. At least that meant he was registering what she was saying. “Do you feel sick?” Malcolm sat with the question for some time. Eventually, his eyes sliding closed again, he nodded just a fraction, immediately flinching at the pain it must have caused. She flinched in sympathy for him. Her voice was soft as down when she asked: “How about we go home and get you to bed? Does that sound good?”

She expected him to give just as much reaction as he had up until this point, which was nearly nothing. So she was surprised when something she said must have stuck out to him. He opened his eyes; something flashed in their murky depths. He nodded again. His movements were long, and dragging. His jaw moved and he mumbled something, but she couldn’t understand it through the gauze. It sounded like he said yes— or, yes appeared somewhere in whatever else he’d said. It was all she wanted— so she smiled, relieved.

Only then, did she look at Gil. Her smile faded when she did. Instead, she just looked expectant.

But he wasn’t bothered by the fact. He mostly kept his eyes on Malcolm, when he walked up to the dentist’s chair. At the new arrival, Malcolm blinked slowly again; initially, he just stared in that same blankness he’d looked at Jessica with. He laid there and did absolutely nothing. When Gil leaned down to gather him up in his arms to transition him to the wheelchair, though, he _did _move. Though it was slight, it had Gil freezing. It wasn’t much— Malcolm just dragged his right arm up a little. Whatever he was planning on doing, it died halfway through. His arm flopped back down again, having gained nothing.at all in its motion. He sighed very loudly and fast, as he stared at up at Gil. His legs moved a little, and his right arm pushed weakly at the chair, like he wanted to push himself up it, or up to his feet.

Their confusion was only mounted when Malcolm tried to speak.

“W’t d’I’ve t’d—…?” He was already mumbling, but with the gauze in his mouth it was almost impossible to understand him.

Gil wilted, glancing at Jessica. She was just as lost. He looked back, leaning a little closer. “What did you say, Malcolm?”

He swallowed, coughing a little both from the fullness of the gauze and the blood that was leaking back into his throat. He really shouldn’t be talking; it was probably making everything worse and more painful. But he obviously wasn’t thinking right at this moment. He just looked up at Gil, bent over him still, and mumbled again: “Wha’o I ‘ve t’ do…?” In talking, he opened his mouth a little bit more. Jessica’s heart panged when she saw that the gauze was already bright red with blood.

He understood him this time, and just smiled. “Nothing, kid,” he soothed. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll do all the heavy lifting.” Malcolm swallowed hard a second time as his eyes slid shut. He mumbled something; they couldn’t hear. It was mostly just his lips twitching into feeble letters that couldn’t quite become words. Gil hesitated for a second, unsure. But then he glanced at Jessica and she gave him a tiny nod. She was anxious to get home. Carefully, he picked Malcolm up bridal-style, like he’d picked him up before. His head fell against his shoulder limply, and immediately, Malcolm yelped in pain from the light contact. Gil rushed to apologize, fixing him fast so that his head wouldn’t knock against him anymore.

Malcolm sagged into him all the way; what little weight he had left leaned heavily into his chest. Gil wrapped his arms protectively around his too-thin frame as he turned and settled him back into the wheelchair, holding the back of his neck and making sure that his head remained upright, or at least wouldn’t wobble and dip too severely. Malcolm’s eyes were dragging closed over and over— it was a battle just to try and keep them open. He looked nauseas, as Gil pulled away from him. But at least he was staying up, so far.

All the payment and affairs had been resolved. All that was left was a few last-minute details— letting Jessica and Gil know a few final things. About how much pain he’ll be in once the medication wears off, about how they’ll send the new prescription to the pharmacy and it should only take a few hours. About how he would stay groggy like this for a while but perk up soon. Lists of foods that would be easiest on his mouth. They listened to every last bit of it impatiently, wanting to just get home. Malcolm stayed silent the entire time, staring blearily off into space. A couple times, Gil would feel weird and perk, looking over at him to realize that he was staring at him. Each time, Gil would smile at him. Malcolm would just blink very slowly, before apparently getting distracted and looking away again.

Jessica noticed the frequent exchange. Her worried frown stayed on her face.

Eventually, they were able to leave. They started for the door, but right before they could wheel him through it, Jessica hesitated at the last second. Thankfully, the waiting room was empty. She stepped around the wheelchair so she could kneel down to his level. His unfocused eyes dragged to her; she was already giving him a soft, deeply sympathetic smile. When she saw the groggy expression he was wearing, and how swollen his mouth looked, she had to fight not to wince away. Instead, she forced herself to smile wider. “My poor darling…” she sighed. She reached up to gently smooth his hair back. He gave another slow blink at the contact.

“Here…” There was a tiny trashcan by the exit. She pulled it the few feet over, and reached her hand out to cup underneath his mouth. “Spit that gauze out, sweetheart— we have fresh ones we can replace it with.” Her words went right over his head. She might as well have not even spoken in the first place. He looked at her like she was speaking another language— or he was half-asleep and he was too tired to try and figure out what she meant. Her smile weakened, but she just tried again. “It’s alright— just open your mouth and let it fall out.”

His eyes flashed. He sat up a little more— his eyes opened a little more. But he was still silent.

Jessica brought her hand even closer. “Here— open your mouth, darling,” she said, louder.

Malcolm’s mouth moved awkwardly, causing muted agony to slice through his expression. Once it passed and the pain faded, he shocked her with a surprisingly-strong glare. He actually looked _awake _when he did this. It was only for a second, before he was ducking away. He shook his head, only once but very firmly. Her face fell. “Honey— it’s alright, just open your mouth, you—” Gil stiffened, when Malcolm glared again, that brief awareness only coming in the flash of anger and…something else. Jessica was oblivious. “Malcolm, what’s wrong? Just— _open your mouth, darling, you—” _

Malcolm was squeezing his eyes shut. His lower lip was starting to tremble.

Gil’s heart broke into two when he realized. He rushed to lurch out and put his hand on Jessica’s shoulder, squeezing it and cutting her off before she could finish the plead. Her head snapped back to him, confusion and reproach lighting her face. She shot him a glare at first, but when she saw the look he was wearing, whatever snap that had been building on his tongue was falling away. Gil’s face was pained beyond measure. He was trying to find the words to explain, but he knew that he couldn’t. Not even because Malcolm wouldn’t want him to— he just couldn’t put it into words. How horrible it was to see Winston pinning him down. Hissing into his ear. Growling harshly as he snapped at Malcolm to _open his mouth._

Looking at Malcolm now, and how close he was to crying, Gil felt sick.

He tried to figure out what to say. Eventually, all he could stutter out was a weak: “Don’t.”

Jessica blinked rapidly, looking even more puzzled. She started to ask, “Don’t wha—?” But Gil just shook his head again. The question fell away from her. Instead, she wilted, just the tiniest bit of understanding coming over her face. Not _enough_ understanding to realize the error of her ways. But to understand that Gil knew something she just had no clue about. That whether she wanted to or not, she had to listen to him and just trust that he knew what he was talking about. That she had no idea.

Her eyes burned a little, when she turned back to her son and saw how upset she had made him. Though with the drugs, his sorrow was already fading away, when there was nothing but silence and whatever it was that had bothered him was waning from his mind. That apathy was coming back instead, but she hated that just as much, if she was being honest. She let out a slow breath, reaching up and smoothing his hair back again. “Okay…” Her voice was choked. He looked at her, just seeming as confused. Good…that was probably good. At least it meant he wasn’t getting upset. She smiled at him. “You don’t have to do anything, sweetie,” she murmured. “You’re alright…”

She drew her fingers through his hair again. The rest of his fear and sorrow faded. And when she leaned up to plant a tiny kiss on the top of his head, her heart melted when she drew away and saw that he was smiling just a little. It was so tiny, but it was so _happy_ at the same time. She went back behind his wheelchair to push him the rest of the way. Gil held the door for them. She caught his gaze as she walked through. He looked sorrowful and exhausted— she was certain she wasn’t as good about hiding her own pain and confusion as she hoped she was. But neither of them spoke. They both looked away at the same time, Jessica back forward and Gil down to the floor. The air was heavy with everything they weren’t saying.

But she would revisit that later.

For now, it was just a matter of getting to the car.

They’d parked next to the building. Gil starting to open one of the passenger doors, so he could help get Malcolm inside and situated as best he could. He was planning on sitting him in the middle, and letting him lean on him so maybe that way he wouldn’t fall or hit his mouth on anything. But the second he was getting in front of him and Malcolm saw him again, he was tensing. Jessica perked, when she saw his head drag up again, from where it had been lolling to the side. At first, she thought it was just because he was starting to rouse. But as he looked from Gil to the car, it was clear that that wasn’t what he was doing.

He was getting stiffer and stiffer. As Jessica continued to push him closer, he floundered a little, dragging his right arm into slow, uncoordinated motion. He reached back awkwardly, fumbling and clawing at Jessica’s hand. She frowned, slowing down. He continued to claw and push, pawing with a certain kind of desperation that told her that if he was able, he would be fighting and kicking and screaming. His fear was burning as hot as it could, in his current drugged state. It made the entire thing even sadder— that he couldn’t even properly panic.

Gil noticed at the same time she did, stopping mid-reach for the car’s door handle.

Jessica stopped, pulling her hand out from underneath Malcolm’s and rounding the chair once again so she could kneel in front of him. His eyes were brimming with tears. She was confused but made sure her voice was nothing but calm and soothing when she spoke. “Darling? What’s wrong?” She was disappointed, but not surprised, when he didn’t answer. He was hanging his head, beginning to sob weakly and brokenly. She bent even lower, trying to catch his eyes. “What’s wrong, Malcolm? What happened? You can tell me…”

He said nothing for a long moment. All he did was continue to cry.

She reached up to pet through his hair again. “You can tell me, baby…” she whispered.

It seemed to do the trick. Once he felt her gentle touch, he started to try and talk. “I ‘on’…w’nna go in th’ ‘unk…” he cried, his voice slurring too much into each sob.

She tilted her head, leaning closer. “What, baby?” She kept threading her fingers through his hair, struggling to reassure him in any way she could. “What is it?”

He looked absolutely miserable. His tears started to stream down his face. His shoulders shook when he breathed in sharply to let out a thin, pleading: “I don’ w’nna go back in the trunk…” Her face fell. Her eyebrows knitted together, but he didn’t pick up on the fact she was lost. He just kept crying, sounding as though he might be terrified and screaming if he just had the means to. For right now, all he could do was this. “Please…don’ make me g’back in…I can’t…I can’t go back in pleashe don’t…make me…’ll do…wha’ver you want…jush don’ put m’back in…”

Her throat was swelling and closing up. Her vision was blurring with tears and yet after the tiny hurdle, she just put on another smile for him. “You’re…you’re not going in the trunk, sweetheart— you’re going in the backseat. With Gil. See?” She felt horrible, talking to him like he was five, and yet she couldn’t help it. She was begging him to look up and see, but his head was dipping too low. She carded her fingers through his hair, to try and relax him. His eyes started to slide shut. Her chest was aching with pain and yet she tried to keep her voice unaffected. “You’re not going in there, sweetheart…okay?”

He said and did nothing. Wilting, she drew away and looked at Gil. She could tell by the way he was staring at her son that he knew whatever _this _was about, too. That in his head, he was seeing everything Jessica had no idea about. For one spit moment, standing there and staring at him, she felt nothing but a horrible kind of _jealousy. _Not jealousy for him having seen her baby being tortured…but jealousy that he knew _why _this was wrong. _Why _it was upsetting her son. He had the luxury of knowing, and all she could do was fumble in the dark…this was the second time she had accidentally upset her son, just on the way out of the dentist’s _alone_. It wasn’t even counting all the times she’d said something to him while he was aware, and wonder why he suddenly went quiet, or looked away from her.

She was jealous because Gil knew _why _it was wrong.

Meanwhile, she had no clue and just made everything consistently worse.

She shook her head to rip away all the festering thoughts. She could wallow later— not right now. She cleared her throat loudly, catching Gil off-guard and rousing him from whatever mental back road his mind had taken. He looked at her and immediately went guilty, based on the look she was fixing him with. She said nothing about that, though. She just looked down at Malcolm and once again forced that grin. She reached out and set her hand lightly on his shoulder, like he was made of glass and she was doing everything she could not to cause him to shatter. _Again_. “Gil’s just going to get you inside, baby, okay?”

He kept his head hanging, sniffling and gasping pathetically. Gil only hesitated for a couple more seconds before he relented. He opened the car door and went back over to Malcolm, once again shifting his arms underneath his thin frame. When he felt himself being lifted and turned, Malcolm let out a plaintive whine. The whimper caused Jessica’s heart to break. It reminded her of when he was no more than a year old, crying about something that had upset him, or waking up in the middle of the night and not having her right there by his side.

He shifted, fumbling like he was trying to get out of Gil’s arms. Jessica stiffened and Gil’s eyes went huge when he had to shift gears and hold him tighter purely so he wouldn’t topple right out of his grip. “Woah— hey, hey, it’s okay!” Malcolm whimpered again, sounding much more terrified as he tried to push and shove at him with his right arm. His fight amounted to nothing. All Gil had to do was tighten his hold on him and he rooted him pretty much immobile. But when he felt this pressure, Malcolm started breaking down even more, starting to gasp and cry. Even more things that ripped at Jessica’s heart.

Gil cradled him closer; Malcolm started to wail into his shoulder. The older man cringed, feeling horrible but not knowing what else to do. He looked at Jessica for help, but she wasn’t even looking at him; her wide, stricken eyes were only for her son. He closed his eyes tightly and counted to five, to calm himself down. He had to clear his throat to make sure his voice wasn’t congested when he spoke. “Hey…_Bright…_” He put emphasis on the name. Malcolm kept gasping and sobbing, but he stuttered at the name. Gil held him a little tighter. “Bright,” he repeated, and Malcolm’s right arm fell back against his chest listlessly. “You’re okay, Bright…you’re just going in the backseat— everything’s fine.”

Malcolm’s breathing stayed fast, but he fell still. Didn’t fight, anymore.

Gil smiled, a pain-filled, sorrowful smile. He started for the door again, murmuring as he went, in case Malcolm started to panic again. “You look like hell, kid…I bet when we get back home, you’re going to take a nice…_long _nap— and when you wake up, things’ll be a lot clearer, again. How’s that sound?”

Malcolm’s head was turned into his chest. His mouth was so filled with gauze and his voice was so quiet that Gil barely caught his tiny whisper. But he did. Maybe only because it hurt him so much to hear the longing in his voice when he barely got out the wistful: “…home…” There was so much longing in that one syllable, it nearly smacked him across the face. Once he heard the depths of Malcolm’s sadness and regret, that was it for him. His throat swelled shut and he knew if he tried to get anything else out, it would just sound like bits of glass scraping against his windpipe.

So he swallowed everything back and just set Malcolm down in the backseat. Jessica was already rushing around the car, to get to the other side. She hadn’t heard his tiny whisper…Gil was grateful for that. As he set the kid down and made sure he wouldn’t fall again, Jessica slid in beside him, reaching out and winding her arm around his middle— both to ensure he’d stay upright, and to make sure he knew she was there, too. He ended up slouching into her, his eyes sliding shut the instant he did. Gil took his other side, just in case he jostled.

All of Jessica’s attention was focused on her son as Gil shut the door and locked both their seatbelts. She held him gingerly, her eyes searching him up and down like she was worried she was missing something. She kissed his forehead lightly, as the driver started the car. Gil saw her melt on the spot, when the edge of Malcolm’s lip twitched up into the faintest of smiles again. She moved his head (very gently, minding his mouth) so he could rest it on her shoulder. Once he did, he went limp, dozing off or just spacing out again. His breathing was deep and even. Relaxed, and calm.

Jessica watched him for a few heartbeats, before her eyes flickered up and caught Gil’s. Neither of them spoke, but the air was heavy— you could cut the tension with a knife. It turned Gil’s stomach, like it always did whenever he had to face her, and wonder if she was blaming him for every little thing that was going on— because she had the right to. Now, her face was so guarded it was impossible to tell. He longed to look away and yet he didn’t. Neither did she. Even when the car pulled away, they didn’t.

They stayed holding one another’s gaze, in a tense, silent conversation that seemed to be lost on the both of them, somehow.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He was silent and still, the entire way in.

They bypassed the wheelchair this time; Gil just carried him in. They went inside and down the hall, into the study. Jessica drew back the covers and Gil gently, carefully, set him down. His head went slack on the pillow and he relaxed into the mattress. Lovingly, Jessica tucked him in. He still hadn’t moved. They were convinced he was asleep, until she drew the blankets up to his chin. _Then, _to their surprise, he moved. Shifted and groaned weakly, as he pried his eyes open like he had back at the dentist’s.

There was still that disoriented blankness to his stare. He looked down at himself like he was confused. Sure enough, when he pulled his arm up just to see the blanket come with it, a puzzled noise wrenched itself out of him. High, and just the tiniest bit scared. “Wha…why d’ I…?” He blinked, staring off into space for a heartbeat, before he dragged his head over to them. Again, his eyes were drawn to Gil. The older man fought not to wince, especially when he knew _why_. Sure enough, Malcolm asked, his numb voice filled with as much apprehension as he could muster in his state: “Why d’ I…get a bed…?”

The question was so simple. But it made him want to start crying, right then and there. Gil couldn’t answer. Jessica stepped forward. He could tell she was weakening just as much as he was; to her credit, somehow she was doing much better than he was at keeping herself together. “Baby…baby, _look_ at me. I want you to _really look at me.” _He did. He was reluctant in taking his gaze off of Gil, but after her plead, his head twisted on the pillow so he could turn his foggy gaze to her, instead. _“Look_ at me, darling…it’s _me.” _She took in a faster breath, and her voice shook a little more when she pressed: “It’s your mother, sweetheart; don’t you recognize me?”

He had to study her in silence. Like she was a hard math problem he had to think through. They watched him carefully, their hearts in their throats. Sure enough, there was a faint glow of recognition. He blinked slowly, searching her face. Blood was beginning to tinge his lips— he was talking too much. They had to get him to stop, and yet when he spoke, they forgot the detail entirely. “Mom…?” he slurred in a slow exhale. She positively lit up, a beam splitting her face when he actually recognized her.

Jessica’s relief was palpable when she bent lower over him, continuing to stroke his hair. _“Hi, baby,”_ she cooed in a tiny whisper. Malcolm stared up at her in silence. She didn’t know whether or not he was actually understanding her yet. But she hoped he felt nothing but reassurance, when he realized it was her. “It’s me,” she pressed. “I’m here with you, you’re safe…” Malcolm blinked. Gradually, he reached up with his right hand. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, moving painstakingly slow. Just as much so, he pulled her down into a hug. Jessica’s smile only grew, when she bent low and gathered him in her arms. Holding him close and planting yet another tiny kiss on his forehead.

At first, that was all it was. A little, relieved hug.

Until she realized it was lasting longer than normal.

Until she realized that he was putting more force than usual behind it— like he was trying to _keep_ her there.

Until she realized that underneath her, her son was trembling.

Her smile faded once the realizations came together. She started to pull away, to ask him what was wrong. But right as she was about to, he spoke. It was in nothing but a terrified whisper; she only heard it because he was so close to her ear. He was staring over her shoulder. Gil was rooted in place, an icy coldness in his stomach as Malcolm stared at him with all the fear in the world. “’m so sorry…” he whispered, every word shaking. Almost as violently as he was— but not quite. “You weren’ shupposed t’ be here too…” She started to say something, but he was cutting her off. “It was only sh’posed to b’ me— ‘m sho shorry…”

She drew back, having to press against his grip in order to do so. His breathing hitched; he tried to yank her back but he wasn’t strong enough. The anxiety on his face built, when he dragged his eyes back to her. She fought to be reassuring. To get over her mental hurdle. “You— …darling, you’re _home,” _she pressed. “You’re…you’re not back _there, _you’re not _with _Winston…” Her voice was breaking and cracking on itself in so many different ways, and yet she didn’t care. All she cared about was the fear on her son’s face. The way he was looking at her, so guiltily and pleadingly at the same time. Wildly, she wondered what to do to get him to understand. He was in so much pain and still under the influence of all those drugs… “Honey, you’re _safe. _At _home, _with _me. _I promise.”

He stared at her blankly, before he dragged his eyes back to Gil. All his muffled desperation came back. He raised his voice, but it still stayed slurred and clogged with gauze. “Hurt me…” he begged. Jessica looked at Gil, seeing her own emotions reflected right back at her when he glanced at her. Their combined shock was what let Malcolm keep going. He was crying again, tears streaming down his face. As he continued to talk, some blood was beginning to trail down the side of his chin, too. “Hur’ me…inshtead— don’…hurt’er, jush— hurt me, don’t hurt my mom…_please _don’t…_please _don’ hur’…m’ mom…” He broke down after he got out the final beg, just starting to cry and fall apart.

Gil’s eyes rounded out with pain. He tried to take a step closer. “Bright…you—”

“Gil, I think it’s best if you step out for now.” The words weren’t barbed or hostile. They were yawning with deep, aching sorrow. He looked at Jessica but she didn’t even spare a glance back at him. Tears were beading at her own eyes. She didn’t even glance back at Gil to make sure he listened. She sat down on the edge of Malcolm’s bed, instead, stroking through his hair as he continued to sob. “Shhh…” Malcolm sounded overwhelmed and heartbroken. Like he was already seeing her being tortured right in front of him, and he could do nothing to stop it.

Gil slowly began to back out of the room, staring at the two as Jessica leaned down a little more.

“Shhh…it’s okay, baby…” she soothed underneath all his sobbing. He was starting to calm down, the more she threaded through his hair and the more she spoke. Her voice was as gentle and soft as her touch. Combined, the two were working their magic. “I’m just fine, sweetheart…nobody is going to hurt me, see?” she continued to ask, as Gil backed into the hallway. Feeling numb, he stepped to the side behind the corner, so that even if Malcolm turned to look at the doorway, he wouldn’t see him. But he still listened as Jessica went on. “We’re both just fine…no one else is here…see…?”

His sobbing lost its intensity. Turning more exhausted, instead of panicked. And though Gil couldn’t see him, he didn’t have to. The pain that was inflicted with his next little cry was enough— if he had to see him, it would be ten times as bad. Already, he could barely breathe when Malcolm sobbed out a blank, terrified, sorrowful: _“Mom…”_ It said much more than he could at the moment. It said all the pain he was feeling now…all the pain he _thought _he was feeling, too. All his loneliness, from a year away. All the fear he had, all the regret, all the torment.

It was there for Jessica to hear, in that one word. And the crying that followed.

It was there for _anyone _to hear.

It was a miracle the two of them managed to stomach it.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He was fighting sleep. Struggling, in her arms, to remain awake.

Jessica lay beside him, cradling him against her snugly. He wasn’t fighting the embrace— he’d started out tense and scared but bit by bit he’d started to relax. By now, he was practically melted against her. A couple times, she would almost be fooled into thinking he’d fallen asleep, but then he was dragging his eyes back open, the effort bleary and groggy. He wasn’t staring at anything, but she could tell that he was always very quick to make sure she was still right there. His arm would move a little bit, until he felt his hand brush her. Then his eyes would close again; he would nod off. Not for long.

Jessica’s heart ached when he tried to open his eyes again. She frowned, reaching up and gently brushing his bangs back. “Sweetheart…go to _sleep_…” she whispered.

He took in a slow breath. His mouth barely moved when he mumbled out an almost-unintelligible: “H’ve…t’ make…sure…’u’re okay…”

She had to swallow back her pain. It was difficult. Her voice was still a little choked when she managed: “I’m going to be _just fine, _darling…I’ll stay right here, with you. You just need rest…”

He was silent for a while. For a second, she began to think he’d listened to her and fallen asleep. But then his forehead creased again ever so slightly. “Nnn…’sh…n’t sha…fe…he could…c’me back, and…”

“He won’t.” She knew trying to talk sense into him was useless. But it pained her beyond measure to play along with him as if they really both were in that dark, desolate warehouse. Not safe at home, in a bed, where he was loved and protected. She had to clear her throat before she could even continue. Her voice was weak when she insisted, “We’ll be fine. You just sleep, baby…you need to sleep.”

“I…wan’…I wanna…” His fuzzy expression crumbled. His lips shook when he garbled out a tearful: “I w’nna go _home…”_

She smiled for him, even though she knew that he wouldn’t see. His eyes weren’t even open in the first place. She scooted just a little closer and began to thread through his hair again. His face cleared a little, when he felt it. A little bit of peace settled back over his face. She continued to stroke his hair back and gradually, he relaxed again, his lips twitching into a tiny little smile. Jessica’s own smile grew. “You go to sleep, baby,” she whispered. Her eyes flickered to her forehead— her fingers ghosted over the scar he had given himself, her touch feather-light. He relaxed even more. “You go to sleep,” she repeated, just as softly. “And when you wake up, you’ll be home, my love.”

His breathing was getting deeper and slower. Still, after a handful of seconds, he croaked: “You’ll…take m’…home…?” He sounded so distant…but so happy, at the same time. There was that heartbreaking little grin, again.

She felt sick. “Of course I will,” she murmured. “I would never leave you, here…” His smile got wider. She found that she had to look away from it, it hurt too much. Instead, she focused on his scar, her fingers still running back and forth, soothingly over it. Trying her best to lull him to sleep. It was working— she could tell. He was getting limper and limper; his head was lolling more. “Just go to sleep,” she repeated gently. He sighed, melting more into her. “When you wake up, you’ll be home. You’ll be safe.”

“…Pr’m…ise?” he breathed.

Pain wrapped tight around her heart. She struggled back a swallow. She barely managed a whisper of: “Promise.”

He sighed. The tension ran out of his shoulders. She still held him close, and felt when he finally let go of that last scrap of consciousness. When he finally got the peace he deserved. Jessica tried to comfort herself with that, but the effort was hollow. She tried not to dwell on it, instead. And instead, just held him in her arms…feel him breathing slow and ensuring that it wasn’t hitching or breaking because of a nightmare. Her son was getting the rest he needed. That was all she needed to focus on. Not the pain on his face. The way he’d cried, before. No— she couldn’t focus on that.

Not if she wanted to keep herself from breaking down and crying just like he had.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He slept peacefully in her arms. His head was lolled so his forehead rested against her collarbone. For the longest time, the only sound was his deep, even breathing. Minutes turned to hours, but she didn’t notice at all. It may as well have been just a handful of seconds. She should have been aware of Gil poking his head inside frequently, and of the clock on the bedside table ticking later and later into the day. She should have been aware of the stiffness in her muscles, from trying to remain still. But she _wasn’t_ aware of that. She wasn’t aware of anything but her son.

Jessica just held him and made sure he was okay. She ensured he wasn’t having any nightmares— that his breath didn’t hitch, that his forehead didn’t crease, that he didn’t toss and turn. Every so often she would draw her fingers through his hair, or brush the back of her fingers against his temple. He stayed fast asleep, no matter what she did. He never had a nightmare, either. Maybe it was the lingering effects of the drugs that had put him under; whatever it was, she was thankful for it. He deserved rest, and he desperately needed it.

Eventually, he started to wake up. She started to dread it when she felt him shift ever so slightly; when she heard him let out a tiny whimper. She shifted too, so she could look down at him. Her heart broke when she saw the look of pain that was already writing itself on his face— he wasn’t even awake all the way, and yet she could already see his agony. His eyes were raw with it, and as he blinked a couple slow times and started to clear away the lingering grogginess, they only grew rawer. He whimpered again, louder. His right arm dragged itself up to instinctively cover his mouth. When he touched it, it just made it worse. He cried out weakly, flinching. Her heart tore even more.

“Sweetheart?” He just cringed, when she spoke so close to his ear. She was slapped with guilt. His head must be killing him. She lowered her voice to just a whisper. “How are you feeling?” It wasn’t the smartest of questions, but it was first one that she could think of out of habit. He didn’t answer, but the agony stayed clear on his face. She tried to judge how aware he was— she thought his eyes looked much clearer than they had before. Maybe sleep had been exactly what he needed.

She looked at the clock, frowning. It had been a few hours. “Do you want me to fetch you some medication?” she breathed.

Immediately, he was nodding, flinching from even that. Tears were already rushing to fill his eyes.

She was put in unbelievable pain, seeing how much he was in. But at the same time, she had to acknowledge the tiny twinge of relief she felt when he actually responded appropriately. His eyes were welling with tears but they were rational, and when he looked at her it wasn’t in that same horrified way he had before. He was desperate but he was desperate for relief from _this _pain, not pain from anything else. She took away her hand before she could get near his mouth, knowing that would just make him hurt worse.

She softened, leaning over and planting a kiss on his forehead. “I’ll be right back, darling,” she vowed. He didn’t speak. He just laid there and watched her leave, his expression filled with pain and sorrow, both of which were horribly deep. Pits, you could drown in, if you weren’t careful. She hurried to fetch his medication, trying not to linger too much on the heartbreaking way he was watching her. Trying to focus on what she was doing, hoping it would help.

Trying her best _not _to drown, just as desperately as she knew her son was.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She was already weak with sympathy, even before she saw him.

When she saw him, her sympathy about tripled.

He looked like he’d just had to have an entire four-course meal of broken glass. His mouth was swollen, and she could see a little bit of gauze poking out of the corner of his lips. He managed to look drugged to near-unconsciousness and wide-awake from horrible agony at the same time. They’d gotten home ages ago— Ainsley was just now getting off of work. The second she walked into his room and saw how miserable he looked – when she could _feel _how miserable he was, in the _air _– Ainsley was wilting, smiling sadly at him in a way that said: ‘You poor thing.’

She tried to keep the look off her face. She knew he’d hate it. But with how messed-up he looked, she wondered if he would even pick up on a detail like that. Or remember it, later. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help herself, when she first laid eyes on him. She walked in and he roused, his eyes dragging up from where they’d been resting on the blankets and going up to her. He didn’t say anything. Ainsley figured even if he tried, she wouldn’t be able to understand him very well. And he looked to be in enough pain anyway, without the added movement. 

So she walked in, a sympathetic smirk tugging at her lips. “Hey…” He just blinked slowly, watching her approach. She sat down on his bed, even the tiny shift of the mattress getting him to flinch. She winced guiltily. Then tilted her head to the side, making a face. She looked him up and down. After a second, she smirked again. “You look like crap,” she commented. His eyes slid closed and he made a noise in the back of his throat. Disapproving— indignant. It made her smirk even more. When he opened his eyes again, his lips twitched, like he wanted to smirk right back. 

She kept going, her voice getting brighter. “No, like— I thought you couldn’t look any _more _like crap, but you’re out here topping yourself; consider me amazed.” Laughter hid underneath every word. His lips twitched again, the gesture much bigger than before. His eyes were bright with pain but they brightened up with just a tiny bit of humor, too. But the smile was too big. The second he started to grin too much, his breath was hitching. He flinched, the tiny giggle that had been forming in his throat breaking off into a choking cry. 

Ainsley winced away from the noise, herself. “Sorry,” she offered weakly. 

His grimace stayed, but he shook his head a little. When he opened his eyes again, they were glazed with tears. She wilted, shifting so that she could sit at the foot of his bed with her legs crossed. “You in a lot of pain?” He nodded, barely. “How bad is it? Ten out of ten?” He nodded again, just as slight a motion. She chewed on the inside of her bottom lip, trying to figure out whether or not she should ask. Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her. She hedged slowly: “Have you…looked at it yet?” He closed his eyes, at this question. He said nothing; he didn’t even look at her. Her stomach sank.

Guilt tugged at her. She glanced down at the ground for a second. 

She waited a couple long seconds before she picked her head back up. “Want me to get you some ice?” she offered, not knowing what else to do. Malcolm didn’t react at first, but then he nodded again. He still didn’t open his eyes. 

Her guilt stayed. She was already kicking herself, as she stood and headed quickly for the door.

Feeling awful because her brother’s smile had been so fleeting.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Gil was waffling.

All day, he had been. He wanted nothing more than to run in and sit right beside Malcolm, and never leave, like Jessica usually did. All he wanted to do was sit with him and watch over him and make sure his kid was okay. He wanted to do everything and more for him— he wanted to fluff his pillow, he wanted to fetch him glasses of water, he would do the tiniest, stupidest, most _mundane_ thing, if only he would be able to stay by him and know he was alright.

It had been days since he’d seen him. Which…wasn’t a lot in the grand scheme of things, but to him, it might as well have been _another _year of missing him. Of wondering what he was doing, if he was okay. They hadn’t talked much since Malcolm had called him for help. Malcolm seemed averse to talking— probably partly because of that instance and how embarrassing it had been for him personally, but also probably because some part of him was still unable to accept the fact that Gil had watched some of the DVDS. That part of himself still wondering which recordings he had seen…what all he knew.

They hadn’t talked about it directly, yet— not to each other. They hadn’t talked much at all.

Gil was trying to respect that. He _was. _If Malcolm didn’t want to talk, he should accept that. He should be understanding, and know that already, he was given more than he deserved, with Malcolm not shutting him out entirely. He knew he should be grateful for what he still had, just being able to be in the _house _again, _especially _with Jessica still against him…

But he wasn’t. He wanted more. He was _aching _for more. But he knew he couldn’t have it.

So all day he had waffled on the outskirts. When Ainsley had come home and rushed into her brother’s room without a second glance at him, he had watched her with a hollow, envious sort of expression. When Jessica followed shortly behind, a smoothie in her hand, he had tracked her as she’d passed, and endlessly wondered once she went into the study whether or not Malcolm was actually drinking it— if he was getting any nutrition whatsoever, or if the pain and difficulty of it was too much for him. When they didn’t come out in for ages, he wondered what he was missing— if it was something important. When Ainsley came back out to take a phone call, he was instantly surveying the look on her face, to try and see whether or not something was wrong.

He knew all of these questions and more he could easily answer if he just _stopped _waffling.

But he felt like he couldn’t. He felt like a stranger, standing on the sidelines.

Once, he had been on the other side. But he’d screwed that up. He knew he had. Now, he was paying for it.

But then the opportunity presented itself. Finally.

Ainsley had stepped out once again to make a phone call. He had no idea who she was talking so much to— he figured it was something for work. The look on her face was certainly enough to show that it wasn’t a conversation she particularly enjoyed having. She was speaking lowly into the phone, when she caught Gil’s eyes from down the hall. She muttered something to the person on the other line before she took it away from her ear for a moment. She glanced between him and study right beside her, making the connection. Her eyes flashed, and her lips pursed, before she turned and started over for him.

He felt stupid. Literally just lingering uncertainly at the end of the hall.

To his relief, if Ainsley thought he was stupid, she wasn’t commenting on it. Her eyes surveyed him carefully, instead. Her voice was tactful and slow, when it came. “Hey— Mom probably wants to try and make Malcolm something he can _actually_ eat for dinner.” Gil frowned, not understanding. It looked like Ainsley was trying not to roll her eyes when she tilted her head back, towards the doors. “You should go ask him what he might want,” she suggested very purposefully.

Understanding dawned, but with it, Gil just deflated a little. Unsure.

Ainsley flashed him a knowing smile before she turned around and walked back down the hall, continuing wherever she had left off in her conversation. He watched her go, feeling a pit in the bottom of his stomach. He looked over at the study, once she disappeared around the corner. For a long couple of heartbeats he didn’t move a muscle. He had no idea what it was in the first place that got his feet to start moving— his anxiety over facing Malcolm just got worse and worse with every step. Which killed him…but still. He knew it likely wasn’t going to get any better. That he might as well risk it and see how it went.

He might as well take the in that Ainsley was trying to give him.

He walked into the study like it was somewhere he knew he wasn’t allowed. Jessica wasn’t anywhere to be seen, for once. She must have stepped out when he hadn’t been paying attention. Malcolm was the only one inside. Laying in the bed, Gil’s heart panged when he felt the kid’s misery and pain even from where he was standing. It was thick in the air and raw on his face. Ainsley must have let Sunshine out of her cage. The bird was currently pecking at and hopping around his bed. Malcolm’s eyes, glistening with barely-contained agony, were tracking her a little glumly. But when he noticed movement at the door, they flickered up to him.

Malcolm’s eyes flashed, when they came to rest on Gil. Gil noticed, his stomach clenching uncomfortably. Neither of them spoke. It was silent. Only for a handful of seconds. But still, they seemed considerably _longer_ than the usual type of seconds. Gil tried to dissect the look Malcolm was wearing, but the effort was impossible. There was too much to read, there. He wondered what his own face looked like. Whether or not he was wearing his heartache obviously on his sleeve.

Staring at him now and holding his gaze, Gil felt yet another horrible pang in his chest when he remembered those videos. Remembered Malcolm crying…begging. He remembered what he’d cried out, when he thought he was being killed and only had a few more seconds of life left. _I love you so much, you were my dad for much longer than Martin Whitly ever was. _He remembered what it had felt like after they’d first found Malcolm, and Gil had thought for sure there was no way he was going to pull through.

He’d regretted never telling him he loved him. Not doing it when he had the chance.

After everything…it was on the tip of his tongue, now. Begging to be let out.

But he just breathed in sharply, clearing his throat. When he spoke, it wasn’t to say those three words. He couldn’t. Not with the way Malcolm was staring at him. Not after what he’d done. “Your mom…wants you to have something for dinner.” Malcolm’s eyes flickered to the bedside table. Gil realized the smoothie Jessica had brought in hours ago was untouched, melting a ring into the wood, he was certain. There was nothing but disgust on Malcolm’s face. He didn’t say anything. Gil tried to keep an upbeat attitude, despite it. “I came to ask what you think you’d want.”

Malcolm made a face. He shook his head just a fraction.

“Nothing?” Gil asked. Another shake. “I could make you some soup.” Another one. Gil wilted, his tone apologetic but firm. “Kid…you have to eat _something.”_

Malcolm just shook his head again. A broken record, with the refusals.

Gil sighed, looking at him carefully. He glanced at the ground, thinking for a moment. When he looked up, he was changing tactics. “Not talking?” Malcolm shrugged one shoulder. Maybe he was getting tired of all the head shaking. Gil cracked a smile. A sad one. But regardless. “Hurts too much?” Malcolm nodded, this time. He gestured lamely to his mouth, before, with yet another face, he just let his arm drop. Gil surveyed the disheartened look he was wearing. Again, he felt that twinge of sorrowful sympathy. He had no idea what kind of pain the kid was in, but he could imagine. No wonder he didn’t want to eat.

“We should get you a whiteboard,” he offered on impulse. Malcolm perked, looking confused. “To write on, instead of talk. For right now anyway. If you wanted,” Gil elaborated. His mouth was bound to feel like hell for a good number of days. Once the swelling went down and most of the pain subsided, they would put in the fake, temporary teeth until they could get the implants. Gil wasn’t stupid— he knew that was the _other_ half of the reason that Malcolm didn’t want to talk. He probably didn’t want anyone to see the state his mouth was in at all. And he knew _very_ well how stubborn he could be. The way he saw it, it was either get him a whiteboard or get nothing but radio silence for a week.

Malcolm caught onto what he was meaning. To Gil’s delight, he smiled just a little. It wasn’t much, thanks to his pain. But the second he was picking up on it, Gil’s own grin was growing tenfold. Malcolm nodded a couple times. The older man felt a glow of warmth in his chest, that he’d done something right, for once— or…at least, halfway right. “You really don’t want anything to eat?” he pressed, figuring he may as well try his luck. But he should have known Malcolm didn’t want to budge. He just shook his head again. Gil nodded his, glancing at the floor again. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, as he wondered what to do from there. The silence was back and it was rubbing him the wrong way. Eventually, he started to mumble out: “Okay, well…I can find Jessica and—”

He cut himself off when Malcolm moved. He pointed at him— but not straight at him…he was pointing at his hand. Gil looked down, realizing with a jolt what had caught his attention. His hand…it was still bruised from when he had gotten angry and punched a hole right into the wall of his kitchen. The bruising wasn’t nearly as angry-red and swollen as it had been before. But it was still black and blue. Fading, but prominent, if you just looked at it closely for more than a couple heartbeats, which, unfortunately, Malcolm had.

He was frowning, as he looked at the older man’s injury. The frown was out of confusion, but there was also a level of concern to it, as well. Gil was disarmed at first, putting the dots together. He’d forgotten about that entire mishap. It was all a blur, frankly, with how high-strung he had gotten…and, regrettably, with how much he’d ended up having to drink once he’d _gained_ said bruise. It was a miracle Malcolm’s phone call had managed to catch him at a time where he was just waking up from one of those stints, with a fresh hangover but at least with common sense. It didn’t even hurt that badly. But now it was staring him in the face again, demanding to be noticed.

“I, uh…” He looked back up at Malcolm— at his inquisitive eyes, and small frown. He entertained lying. Of course he did, all things considered. But he couldn’t. He was lying about so many things…holding back so many things, already. He couldn’t lie about this, too. He did crack a smile though, and force his voice to get brighter. If only to try and lessen the importance it actually had. “I got in a fight with a wall,” he explained lightly. Malcolm blinked, looking confused. Gil’s smile cracked even more, maybe even with a little bit of sincerity, this time. “You should see the other guy…no really, it’s a one hundred dollar fix.”

Malcolm’s eyes flashed, in a way that showed he would have smiled, had he been without pain. It wasn’t much but it was something. Gil’s expression warmed. For a heartbeat, they just stared at one another in silence. Slowly, Gil’s face began to fall. The confusion began to cloud over Malcolm’s face again, but this time it didn’t have long to stay before Gil was speaking. His voice was much quieter than it had been only seconds before. Thicker, too. He took in a slow breath that caught at the tail end. Looking at Malcolm, from out of nowhere, that feeling clutched around his heart again. Tighter and harder and much more painful than it had prior. Begging to be let out.

“Kid, I—…” He took in another breath, closing his eyes and ducking his head. He forced it out, already knowing what Malcolm’s reaction would be. “I’m sorry, kid…” He looked up, and sure enough, Malcolm was shaking his head. Minimally, but forcefully at the same time. But now, Gil was glad he wasn’t speaking. It gave _him _more room to. “I _am,” _he insisted, his voice cracking with the emphasis. He felt tears burning in his eyes. Before this, Gil never cried. He prided himself on always keeping his cool. Now, that was out the window, and he wasn’t even glancing after it. He didn’t care. Not anymore.

“I’m _so _sorry, kid…for— …for everything. I’m sorry for the videos…” Malcolm’s shoulders drooped, his eyes flashing again. It made Gil’s throat burn hotter. “I’m sorry for watching them. I know I said before, but I should have known better. I should have given you…the _respect _to not have watched them. But I did. And I regret it every day,” _in more ways than one_, “and I’m sorry for it. And I’m sorry for…” Another rush of tears came, to warp his vision completely. This time, the breath he sucked in was much harder. His voice, much more fragile. “I’m sorry for bringing you on the case,” he croaked.

Malcolm shook his head again, this time much more noticeable, but Gil shut his eyes. “I’m sorry for bringing you on the case, kid, I’m so sorry for— not checking on you earlier, I’m sorry for not _finding _you earlier, I’m sorry for you not being able to hear me when you called me, I’m sorry for not getting there fast enough, I’m…” He looked at him despairingly. At his kid…stick-thin, immobile, pale, weak, a mouth too in pain to even move. His voice came out hollow. “I’m so sorry…Bright…”

Malcolm stared at him a couple moments more, like he was waiting to see if he was done. In fact, after a long while of staring, and after a long stretch of silence, he raised his eyebrows a little bit, as if asking: ‘Are you finished?’ When Gil said nothing, Malcolm made a face and shook his head. Gil opened his mouth to say something, but Malcolm was looking down. He opened his phone and found his way to his notes. He began to type, a little clumsily with only one hand. Gil waited for however long he needed. Eventually, he managed it, and flipped it around to display it for him. Gil had to come a little closer, to be able to read what he’d typed.

‘Don’t apologize. I wanted the case. Just like I wanted all the other ones.’

Gil wasn’t swayed. He looked at him despairingly and tried: “But…if I’d—”

He broke off, when Malcolm huffed and turned the phone back. He kept typing. And displayed it again.

‘You did the best you could. I know you did. And I’m here, now.’

Those last four words hit Gil hard, square in the chest. He couldn’t say anything, against them.

Malcolm stared up at him for a couple moments, before he frowned. He took the phone back and typed something else, on the line below. It surprised Gil, when he showed him.

‘How did you find me?’

Gil hadn’t realized before this very moment, but the kid really had no idea; he could see it on his face. It was a question mark on what the kid remembered at _all_…the blankness on his face as he stared up at him was telling enough. Gil’s stomach tensed and flopped a little when he had to remember that night, the way it always did when he was forced to recall the details. But looking at Malcolm again, he knew he had no choice but to tell the truth. He tried to brace himself and take a deep breath. He tried to yank his mind away from the sight of Malcolm on the ground, hissing and trying to scream in pain, closer to death than he was to life….he tried his best to block that out. To focus on the other part. The one he knew Malcolm was _actually _asking about.

“Winston…was speeding,” he began slowly. Malcolm dropped his arm, wilting as he had to hear the name again. But he was looking at him intently, so Gil didn’t stop. “An officer pulled him over for, at first…when they noticed he was acting strangely…not looking at them, not speaking clearly…” Malcolm frowned. Gil could practically _hear _him trying to profile. Realizing that things didn’t match up. But it wasn’t like it mattered. Not anymore. “When you…when you called me, all you managed to tell me was that your kidnapper had brown hair and gray eyes…do you remember that?”

Malcolm tried to think. Gil could see him wracking his brain. But he just shook his head, eventually.

Gil nodded a little. He cleared his throat. “Well, you did,” he said a little lamely. “You, uh…that was the only description we had. Thankfully this one police officer managed to remember the description. Once he started to take him in, Winston started fighting. Backup was called…and then _we _were called. It was about an hour’s drive.” _God, _did he remember that hour. It was the longest one of his life, tense and silent in the car with Dani and JT, only speaking to snap at Dani to go _faster_, just like JT was. He took another big breath, coughing again to make sure his voice wouldn’t break. Or…_try _to, anyway.

“We got down there, and he wasn’t saying anything. I…got him to break.” Malcolm was frowning, still. He looked confused. Like something wasn’t adding up. Or…that something wasn’t meeting what he’d expected, somehow. “I remembered what you said, about the bragging.” Malcolm perked, frowning even more. “I said nobody like him could ever do any of what we saw. The others picked up on it, and we all pretended like we were dismissing the case…saying he wasn’t the right fit. That he wasn’t strong enough to have kept you all this time.” Malcolm blinked slowly, his eyes falling to rest on the blankets. The look on his face was still puzzling. Gil cleared his throat a third time. “That got him to open up…just to prove he was our guy. And then…we found you.” His voice gave out a little, on this. He was praying Malcolm wouldn’t press him for more. He already knew he wouldn’t be able to get it out.

But Malcolm didn’t. He stayed staring down at the covers. Blank. But not, at the same time.

Gil looked at him a little closer. “Kid?” he promoted. Malcolm looked up. “What’s wrong?”

He hesitated. There was _something _in the back of his eyes. Something that was wanting to get out. For a second, it seemed like he was going to bend, and type it. But, after he looked back up at Gil, he was apparently taking it back. He shook his head, and offered what would probably have been a smile, if he could manage it. He said and did nothing else. Gil eyed him warily, unsure. Not quite wanting to let the conversation die there, but knowing that he also didn’t want to push him. When Malcolm stayed staring at him with that same oddly-blank, oddly-full look, he figured nothing else was going to happen. That Malcolm wasn’t going to let up on whatever it was he was holding back.

He almost asked. He came so close.

But when he spoke, it wasn’t that. He couldn’t bring himself to pry. Instead, he just declared a soft: “Let me go see if your mom has a whiteboard laying around…”

Malcolm just nodded. He seemed distracted.

Gil held his gaze for a couple more seconds, before he nodded a little and turned. He walked out of the room, stopping at the door to throw one last glance over his shoulder. Malcolm was staring down at the bed again, looking lost and confused. Now that he wasn’t aware of Gil’s eyes on him, the older man could see the strain and befuddlement on his face. He knew that there was something wrong— something _really _wrong. Something he wasn’t saying— that he was keeping back. He had no idea what that was. Or what the source of the growing heartache on his face, was.

Seeing him, he stopped short. Tempted to go back in.

He almost did.

But he bit it back. He tore his gaze away and left, instead, in search of a whiteboard.

Possibly just trying to help by focusing on the here and now.

But much more likely just scared of screwing anything _else _up, with his kid, by pushing.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He didn’t want to see.

He felt the exact same dread he felt when JT had given him his phone, so he could actually see himself for the first time. Only this time, it was somehow worse. He could already _feel_ the agony in his mouth. The pain was horrible – he could barely _breathe_ around it – but he knew that _facing _why it was actually there would be even worse. He hadn’t all day…he’d refused to. But now the temptation was back, and some part of him was telling himself now that there wasn’t a point in avoiding it. That the pain was there and the pain demanded to be addressed, just like all the _rest _of his pain had been demanding to be addressed this entire time.

The other pain was worse— it was more all-encompassing.

_This _pain, he would be able to bear with facing. If not fleetingly. Quickly.

So he did.

Once Jessica left to get him a glass of water, and left him alone for more than a handful of seconds – which was a personal best for her, unfortunately – he grabbed his phone. His hand was shaking like a leaf; it was a miracle in itself that it stayed in his unsteady grasp. He held it and stared down at it for a handful of seconds, not quite having the courage yet to actually see. But he knew that he’d never have the courage in the first place. So he took in a deep breath and acted quickly, before he could let himself think about it. If he thought about it, he would back out. He would lose what little nerve he’d managed to keep.

He turned the phone on and pulled up the camera.

Hesitated one more time. Before he switched it around and reluctantly, barely, opened his mouth just a fraction.

It had stopped bleeding pretty much, but the inside of mouth was still black and dark red, stained from all the blood that had been there before. It was still swollen, which didn’t help any. But those things were trivial. When Malcolm saw himself, his stomach dropped. He felt the room spin, just like he had, before. It took everything in him to calm down and dig his heels into the ground before he could spiral. He gripped the phone tighter and took in a harsh gasp that hurt on its way down. His stomach heaved.

He looked even worse than he had, before.

Winston had ripped out his wisdom teeth while he was away…that much, he remembered.

Fourteen teeth had been pulled.

Which meant he had fourteen _left, _in his mouth, currently.

He looked even more like a zombie. The _final thing_ needed to make him into a child’s worst nightmare; something hiding in their closet, under their bed, waiting to get them, was now complete. He quickly had to close his mouth, just because he couldn’t take looking at himself anymore. He let the phone drop to the bed, not caring where it landed because he didn’t want to see it again. He didn’t want to _look _at himself— he _couldn’t _look at himself, truly. It made him feel sick. Disgusted. Ashamed.

Jessica came back soon enough. She must have noticed the phone. And his new distress.

She must have put two and two together…but she didn’t say anything.

Just like she didn’t say anything when a couple tears slipped out and down his cheeks.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_How are you holding up?_

**My head hurts a little less today.**

_That’s good! Baby steps! _

**Yeah.**

_Little progress is better than no progress._

**Are you currently sitting by a calendar of inspiring quotes?**

_You can do anything you set your mind to!!!_

**Ha-ha. **

_Hey, guess what?_

**No.**

_Come on, guess what!_

**I’m not falling for it. Again. This will have been the fifth time.**

_You’re keeping track?_

**I have very little else to do.**

_Do you still feel a little sick?_

**Yeah.**

_Have you told Mom?_

**I feel like whatever answer I give is a losing one, for me.**

_Malcolm. At least tell one of your nurses._

**Isn’t that their job? To see whether or not I’m sick?**

_You’ve gotta be the worst patient in the world. I feel sorry for those girls._

**Good, it’ll get the pity off of me, for once.**

_It’s not pity, it’s concern. _

**There’s not a difference.**

_Yeah, well, I guess you were right, before._

**What was I right about?**

_What you said to me. The day before your appointment._

**What did I say?**

_You know. The thing about Mom. You went on for ages._

**What?**

_CHICKEN BUTT!!!!!!!!!_

…

_That’s five. _

…

_Malcolm, don’t ignore me, I’m on break from work I need someone to talk to for the next ten minutes._

…

_Are you mad you made it all the way back home just to have your sister pull chicken butt on you five times because you’re so gullible?_

…

_I love you._

…

_You’re not even going to say it back?_

**Love you too.**

_There you go! That wasn’t so hard, was it?_

Malcolm rolled his eyes, letting his arm drop back to the bed. He stared straight ahead for a couple seconds, faint irritation like a shadow in the far back of his eyes. But then it changed. He rolled his eyes again, but the corners of his lips were turning up into a smile against his will. A small one, but one that radiated happiness. He scoffed, just a little bit. The scoff turned into a little laugh. Jessica was just walking inside, when he giggled. She positively lit up, stopping short when she saw his little grin. She was just bringing in the laundry. But her task at hand went out the window at once. Malcolm’s smile was already fading, but she didn’t care— she was just so shocked to see it in the first place.

Her own smile stretched ear-to-ear, now. “What was that?” she asked.

He jumped a little bit, not realizing she’d walked in. He blinked a couple times before he got over the surprise. The side of his mouth twitched just a little, as he looked back down at his phone, setting it aside. He didn’t actually answer; he just shook his head. But despite the gesture, his expression was layered with happiness and affection. For once, it wasn’t weighted down with pain, or sorrow. That smile lingered with him in the back of his expression as he looked off to the side.

She could see his happiness. It wasn’t much, but she was willing to take it.

She saw it so rarely, these days. It was more than enough.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_Hey. You free?_

**Almost always, yes. My itinerary is very lacking, these days.**

_That’s unfortunate. No shuffleboard?_

**Not until two. I have some time to pencil you in.**

_I hope you have more than just some. I was actually going to ask if I could come by._

…

**Come by?**

_To visit. The last time we didn’t leave on good terms._

_Plus, I just want to see you. It’s been a while since I have._

**It hasn’t been that long.**

_You know what I mean. ACTUALLY see you. It HAS been a long time._

**You didn’t enjoy the break?**

_Don’t joke, Bright. Not about this._

**You’re right. I’m sorry. Now isn’t the best time, though.**

_Why not?_

**It just isn’t.**

…

_Bright, I can only rely on hearing through the grapevine about you for so long. Gil isn’t enough._

**It’s know, it’s just not that simple. I’m…not myself.**

_Neither am I, right about now. _

**It wouldn’t work.**

_Why not?_

**I can’t talk right now. It hurts too much.**

_So don’t talk. I’ll do enough talking for the both of us. I don’t mind._

…

_I’m a very good conversationalist._

**I feel like you won’t take no for an answer even if I wanted to say it.**

_I feel like you might be right. As usual._

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_He couldn’t breathe, against all the pain that was completely overwhelming him. _

_It was everywhere. _

_Each and every inhale sent agony stabbing in between his ribs. His chest was stinging with three fresh, gaping slashes running from just underneath his shoulders, twisting down his sides. He could feel the blood seeping out of the cuts, cold and hot at the same time; he could smell the gore, heavy in the air. His right ankle was on fire— his foot was twisted awkwardly. It might be broken. He didn’t have enough awareness, to check and see. He didn’t have enough awareness for _anything. _It was all red, to him. Just red, and pain, and torture. _

_His breaths were far too fast and shallow. He was going numb. Shock was setting in._

_He was so relieved. _

_Everything hurt. He felt sick. He felt tired. He was so tired. So tired…_

_He wanted to be done. _

_He wanted this to be over._

_“No, you don’t.” He stiffened, when he heard the voice. The tiny jerk did nothing to help his pain. For a brief moment in time, his vision exploded in white. His ears rang shrilly as agony clutched hard around his throat. When the tide ebbed away he was left trembling and gasping even louder than before. He stared off into space for a couple more heartbeats, before he could drag his head up and look towards where the words had come from. The voice was clear and steady…bracing. An antithesis to the darkness that was surrounding him— all the pain and fear and uncertainty. Sure enough, when he looked towards the voice and his eyes found its source, he could see that its owner stood just as much so as a stark contrast._

_Dani stood just a few feet away. She wasn’t fazed by what was in front of her. Not by the sight of Malcolm on the ground. Not by the sight of all the blood and gore. She was completely unaffected. She looked…like she had the last night Malcolm had seen her. She was wearing the same outfit…she was wearing the same tiny smile. Like she was happy to see him but didn’t want him to know that she was. Even when he looked up at her, and a tiny sob managed to escape from between his clenched teeth, her smile didn’t go away. “You don’t want to die, Bright,” she objected. “You want to _live.”

_It took him a couple moments to be able to draw in enough air to speak. His voice wasn’t anything like the way hers sounded. It was weak and small and pathetic. Thinly crafted out of toothpicks and glue that was crumbling too quickly for him to try and save. “I don’…” Tears had already been rushing down his face from pain, but now there was sorrow to match it. When he breathed in sharply, his breath grated down a throat far too dry and abused. Laying on the floor, feeling all the pain, all the defeat, and now seeing Dani there, knowing she wasn’t actually there but having her seem so real at the same time…it was too much. He gave up and started crying. Weak, but body-shaking sobs wracking him as he fought to speak. “I don’…w’nna…I can’ keep doin’ th’s, Dani…I can’t…”_

_She took a few steps closer. She crouched down to be more on his level. Her smile was gone. Now, she was looking at him with the tiniest hint of reproach. The way she would always look at him when she was trying to talk sense to him, or figure out what in the world he was meaning. She’d looked at him this exact way a million times before, and seeing it again got him crying even harder. She wasn’t moved. “No. Bright,” she repeated, ignoring the desperate way he stared up at her. “You _can_ get through this. And you _will_.” She raised her eyebrows. “You know why?”_

_He didn’t actually ask why. He just stared up at her, dreading the answer._

_“Because you’re Malcolm Bright,” she insisted. “You’ve got a family waiting for you at home. And you’ve got a team that’s working day and night to find you, _just_ like you were working day and night to find all the other victims.”_

_“N’ver found th’ oth’rs…” he sobbed. “Could n’ver…find ‘em you won’ find me…”_

_“Yes we will,” she said immediately. “Because you’re _lasting_ for us. So _keep_ lasting— long enough for us to find you. Okay?” Malcolm said nothing. Miserably, he could only look at her. At how real she seemed. Thinking to himself, with another hitching sob, that even though before now he never would have felt even the urge to do so, _all_ he wanted to do now was reach up and hug her— have her hug him back. Or even just touch him in any way at all— on his hand, on his arm…just to remember what it felt like to experience a touch that was gentle. That was kind. That didn’t hold in it unimaginable pain, or a threat of pain. _

_He wanted nothing more than to hug her. But she wasn’t actually there._

_He was about to say something else, when yet another wave of pain crashed into him out of nowhere. He was punched in the face with the sudden bolt of agony; he flinched hard, his entire body going into an uncontrolled spasm. His ears rang again. Everything turned fuzzy. It took more than just a few seconds for it to pass this time, and when it did, it took more effort to open his eyes again. His vision was hazier and blurrier than before. His arms and legs were tingling. Immediately, he was looking back up at the spot Dani had been in, but his stomach dropped when he realized that she was gone. That where she had been standing before, now there was nothing but darkness._

_He twitched on the ground, sorrow punching him in the gut just as much as the pain had._

_Weakly, he struggled to croak out: “D…ani…?” Praying she would come back._

_But she didn’t._

_He was alone._

_He closed his eyes, his expression crumbling as he started to cry. Loneliness and despair hollowed out every single one of his sobs, all of which bounced off the walls and echoed right back to him. He cried because he was in pain. Because he was alone, because he was tired. Because he wanted to die, but he wanted to make it home, too, and he couldn’t have both. He sobbed and sniffed and hyperventilated. Until some part of himself latched back onto sense. Or…at least, the closest thing to sense he had left, anymore._

_His lips started to twitch with a mind of their own._

_Weakly, in broken, chipped croaks, he started to whisper in between his sobs._

_“Keep lasting…keep…lasting…keep lasting…keep lasting…”_

“Helloooooo?” He jerked, blinking rapidly as he looked up from the blankets, where his gaze had ultimately fallen. Ainsley was eyeing him with slightly-raised eyebrows. “What’s up?” she asked, when he didn’t say anything right away. He realized his mouth was hanging halfway open. Quickly, a rush of embarrassment flooding through him as he snapped it closed painfully, and covered it with his hand. Ainsley’s eyes flashed with a little bit of pain when she noticed, but thankfully she didn’t say anything. But she _did _keep pressing. Which was almost worse. “You’ve been staring off into space for like, five minutes,” she said. Another twinge of self-consciousness smacked him. She started to wilt, her head tilting to the side. “What’s wrong? I thought you would be happy.”

He shook his head a little. Looking down, he picked up the marker again. Ainsley’s shoulders slumped as she watched him write something out, and then drop the marker so he could display the board to her. His handwriting was messy. Shaky. But she could read it nonetheless.

‘Temporary teeth?’

Ainsley’s deadpan melted a little. She looked more disheartened. “Mal, you know what Mom said.”

He sighed, looking away. He didn’t write anything— the look on his face said enough.

Ainsley’s look stayed put, until she smiled, trying to brighten up. “You don’t need them anyway, Mal.” His eyes flickered blandly to her. She tried not to notice the bitterness in them as she sat down on the edge of his bed. Though she kept her voice upbeat, her hands still wrung in her lap. “And you can _talk, _you know?” He closed his eyes. “I know it’s…not _ideal, _but…she won’t mind! Nobody else will mind, Mal— it’s just _you _that’s holding you back…” She was frowning a little, by now. It wasn’t helped that he still wasn’t looking at her. Her voice was quieter when she pressed: “None of us will think differently of you, Mal…none of us will…_stare, _or…_laugh. _We _understand._ It’s _just _teeth…_” _A few tense seconds of silence passed. She glanced at the floor, gnawing on her lower lip. When she picked her head back up, her smile was back again, however weak. “You could at least _try _talking...I know Dani would like to hear your voice…”

Malcolm’s eyes opened. Though he stayed looking away, she could see that they were filled with tears. He reluctantly opened his mouth. At first, Ainsley was starting to brighten, before she noticed how his expression was crumbling. He was fighting not to let his lips tremble. He spoke, but it was softly. His lips barely moved. Even though he didn’t have any anymore, his voice still sounded like his mouth was filled with cotton. It sounded strange…_unlike_ him.

“It shoundsh weird…” he mumbled thickly, his eyes welling up even more. Ainsley fought not to let her expression change when she heard his voice, and when she saw how much it was hurting him to hear himself. She saw all the regret and frustration that he was bottling back. “It doeshn’t…shound like m’ voish…” He cringed, closing his eyes tight and ducking his head. His right hand curled into a fist. Ainsley knew there was more to it; she didn’t say anything, she just waited. Sure enough, her brother’s eyes welled even more and his voice grew even thicker when he croaked out after a long pause: “Nofing about me…is the shame…thish just makes it worse…

“Call her back.” Ainsley stiffened a little when he suddenly looked at her, his expression desperate. “Call her back— tell her not to come,” he begged. Her stomach dropped. It took a lot, to face him head-on and not duck away. To see the tears in his eyes, the way he was staring at her, all the teeth that he was missing now. He was right…he _didn’t _look like himself; he didn’t look like her brother. But he _was. _She didn’t need to remind herself of it. It was what was giving her the strength to hold his gaze. Even when he just continued to beg her. “Tell her…she can’t come, make up an excush.”

“Malcolm, she’s been waiting to see you for ages,” Ainsley objected. “She texted me _all the time _asking about you when she couldn’t come see you herself. And you should have seen how she was when you were gone…” Her eyebrows knitted more together. “I thought you would have been happy, to see her again…” He looked away, frustrated and upset. He looked down at himself, and she felt horrible when she saw the reaction it gave him. When she saw all his disgust, and pain. She knew this entire situation was hard on him…but now it was smacking her in the face.

“We _can’t_ tell her she can’t come, Mal,” she objected quietly after a couple heartbeats. “I know you don’t wanna actually do that to her…”

He cringed, but didn’t fight. The misery just built on his face, though.

Ainsley chewed on the inside of her lip again. She looked at her brother, her face shrouding slowly in thought. She looked at his unkempt hair, and the bags under his eyes. The paleness to his face…he had so many scars. The one on his forehead, the one under his chin, the one arching down his cheek. She looked at _everything_. And slowly, a smile spread across her face, lifting the corners of her lips upwards. He glanced at her after a long pause and did a double-take when he saw her grin. He looked put-off at first.

But that turned into confusion instead, when she declared: “We’ve got a good fifteen minutes before she gets here…let’s use ‘em.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Ainsley had been the one to get the door, not Louisa. Which Dani would have thought was strange in itself. But she _especially_ thought it was strange when she saw just how _happy_ she was to see her. She was _beaming, _grinning from one ear to the other. The smile barely fit on her face. Dani didn’t even have the time to open her mouth and begin to say hello, before Ainsley was bubbling over, saying hello and how nice it was to see her again and about how she’s missed her coming by. The blonde latched hard onto her wrist and practically tugged her inside, hardly even pausing long enough to shut the door before she was carting her down the hall.

Dani was a little alarmed to say the least, her eyes wider than normal as she stumbled after her. They headed for Malcolm’s room while Ainsley reassured her that her brother was very excited to see her, while she asked if there was anything she could get her to eat or drink, if she needed to leave by a certain time. All of these questions, she asked in rapid-fire action; there was no way Dani could have answered any of them, because another was just waiting in the wings to spring forward.

She had no idea what in the world got her so excited. Made her so happy.

Until they got to Malcolm’s room.

When Ainsley stopped yanking her along and they were left to just stand in the doorway, Dani had to steady herself so she didn’t keel right over with the abrupt halt. Once she got over the sudden change and her eyes flickered up, they met with his and she was immediately smacked upside the head with surprise. She was so surprised that she didn’t bother trying to regulate her expression. She knew her eyes went wide, she felt her mouth fall open a little, she just didn’t have the thought inside her in the moment at hand to care. She was just surprised. That was all she could feel.

Malcolm looked…so much like _himself_. The last time she had seen him had been some time ago. He had looked worlds better than he’d looked in the hospital…but he had still looked foreign in a way. Though he was still so small and skinny like he’d been, everything _else_ about him seemed different. There was a little bit more color to him. Some of his scars were less noticeable than they’d been before— there was a new bandage over the slice in his forehead he’d given to himself, and the cut on his cheek and under his chin. The larger ones that were more noticeable. His hair wasn’t mussed up and everywhere— it was slicked back in the exact style it always was. He was clean-shaven again, too.

She wasn’t focusing on that part of things as much, though. The biggest difference was that there was more _life _to him. His eyes seemed livelier…_brighter. _There was the tiniest ghost of a smile lifting the edges of his lips up. A nervous smile…but a _happy_ one at the same time. When their eyes met and her surprise was so obvious, he wilted just a little bit, and that nervousness started to grow. There was a whiteboard laying in his lap; she could see his grip on it get about ten times harder. The detail was small but it was the one that got her to jerk back to attention; to realize what she was doing and that she had to reel it in.

She blinked rapidly, clearing her throat and shaking her head. “Bright!” He lightened when she used that name. She found herself smiling, when she saw that his grin was coming back. “You’re…” The dots finally connected when she turned and saw that Ainsley’s grin was just about splitting her face. She was practically jumping up and down on the spot. Dani looked back at Malcolm and smirked when she saw he was shooting his sister a reproachful glare. When she looked back at him he was quickly shoving it away, but she’d already seen it. Laughter hid behind her voice when she said: “You look great.”

He just looked flustered. He shot his sister another look.

She was still smiling, though. “Doesn’t he?” she prompted, just increasing the strength of his glower. “It’s all my experience in front of the camera; I could give any MUA a run for their money.” Silence followed the statement. Malcolm kept glaring at her expectantly. She made a face. “What?” He raised his eyebrows. Dani grinned, ducking her head. Ainsley’s face only worsened. _“You’re welcome,” _she huffed. He raised his eyebrows even more. The blonde rolled her eyes. She tried to look angry but Dani could hear the smugness in her voice when she sighed: “I’ll _leave, _then. Whatever.” She turned on her heel, marching for the hall. She threw a look over her shoulder, though, and her eyes sparkled when she tossed back to her brother: “Have _fun.”_

Malcolm scowled after her. He looked exasperated.

Dani found herself smiling, though. Thinking to herself that he really _did _look like himself.

He looked back and caught her smile. Dani was fast to reel herself back in but the damage had been done. She glanced at the floor and cleared her throat, clasping her hands behind her back. She looked back up and started for him, repeating herself. Just because the fact was so astounding to her…and because she had no idea where else to start. “You look great,” she said again. Not only physically, either. Last time she had seen him had been when he’d found out Gil and JT had watched pieces of his evidence. He had been panicking and crying— to the point where he’d passed out on the spot. Now…he was calm. He was even smiling a little, when he looked back at her, even if the smile was embarrassed and apologetic. The light was back in his eyes.

She kept going back to that detail. The light in his eyes.

It had been more than a year since she’d truly seen it.

She’d missed it.

He grinned awkwardly for a few seconds, before he straightened and looked down at his lap. Dani slowed when she realized he was picking up the dry erase marker a few inches to the side. She watched curiously as he wrote something down. Once he was through, awkwardly, because of the fact he could only use one hand, he turned the board around so she could see. With his tremor, every single word shivered, like it was cold. But she could still make it out. And once she did, her smirk came back; she laughed aloud, at the words that met her.

‘That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all day.’

She shot him a look, very aware of the warm feeling in her chest when his smile grew. It was only a fraction, but it was noticeable. “Alright, I’ll give you that one,” she mused. He put the board back down, satisfied. She raised her eyebrows, taking the chair at his bedside, which she assumed up to now had been Ainsley’s spot. Figuring the blonde wouldn’t mind her taking it for a bit, she sat. She eyed the board, her smirk lingering. “You weren’t joking when you said you couldn’t talk, then,” she remarked. He hesitated, but shook his head after a moment. She tilted her head to the side. “Are you still in a lot of pain?” He nodded. “Is your mouth the worst of it, or…?” He shook his head. His expression turned much blander and more worn when he gestured vaguely to himself— to _all _of himself.

She softened, sympathy coming over her. Even if he looked worlds better than before, he was still just one big mess of injuries. He was on the mend, but it was slow_. _“How many teeth did they end up taking out?” she asked. His eyes darted away— she didn’t mistake that. He held the marker in his hand still, but he didn’t make a move to write a number down. After dwelling on it for a couple of seconds, he just shook his head a little, shrugging his good shoulder. Dani could tell it was a sensitive topic— it may as well have lit up with neon signs that warned her not to go any further. She took the warning straight away.

She’d come here to _see_ Malcolm, not upset him.

He’s had enough of that, recently.

So she straightened, smiling again and changing the subject. “Ainsley seemed awfully excited to bring me in.” At first, Malcolm was just relieved at the change of pace. But when this new topic was brought up, his growing relief turned into a deadpan as he glanced out the door again. Dani laughed at the look on his face. “She’s probably just ready for me to be able to come visit again— at least that way I won’t be texting her all the time. Her phone bill was probably starting to get a bit high.” Malcolm looked back at her. His smile was gone; the new expression he wore was hard to read. Dani found that she couldn’t place it, no matter how long she held his gaze.

A few moments passed like that: in complete silence, with the both of them just staring at the other. Fumbling and groping for something to say…or, in Bright’s case, write. Eventually, Dani fumbled enough to actually come up with something. It came out quiet, and subdued. Hardly there. But genuine at the same time. “I really missed you, Bright…” she murmured, before she could really stop herself, or put up any sort of filter. Malcolm’s eyes flashed. His shoulders drooped, and his face fell. Dani continued to stare at him for a few more seconds before she closed her eyes and ducked her head, clearing her throat and offering a stiffer, even quieter: “I mean— we all did.” Another pause. Before, still staring at him and finding herself unable to keep herself from holding it back, she caved and reiterated: “_I_ missed you.”

He hesitated. Before he wrote down and showed back to her: ‘I missed you too.’

The air was getting a bit too tense. Right about now was when one of them said something to cut the tension and make everything okay again.

A wry smile began to crawl over her face. She looked blandly between him and the whiteboard. The sarcastic comment could be _seen _constructing itself on her tongue. So he beat her to it. Quickly, he flipped the board back around and wrote fast. When he turned it back around, her grin stretched from ear to ear. He smirked a little, too. ‘It was a pretty long night,’ he’d written in his shaky handwriting, fulfilling the much-needed task of ruining the moment. She laughed and his smile grew. She softened, when she saw the playful glint begin to spark itself to light in his eyes. It was slow and small, but it was the exact light she’d seen shine at her when she’d pulled away from the curb, leaving him behind that final night before he was taken. Probably the night he _was _taken.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, her smile was fading. Something in her gut tightened, and she looked back down at her lap. Malcolm’s smile dropped right along with hers. Anxiety started to replace it instead, as he looked at her, probably wondering what he’d done wrong. But _he _wasn’t the one that had done something wrong…Dani’s hands clasped together. She opened her mouth, fumbling once more for something to say. She closed her eyes. Struggled to draw up the courage to ask what had plagued her for countless sleepless, guilt-ridden nights.

“Bright…” _When did it happen? _She could think of a thousand ways to ask it, and she could feel every single option clamoring to get out past her lips. _Did he take you from your apartment? Was it that night or was it the next morning? Did you try to call out for me? Did you hope I was still there? Should I not have left you that night? Should I have connected the dots, should I have known that it would happen? _They were all viable options when it came to seeking the question she desperately needed an answer to.

But she couldn’t. Once she looked up and faced him again, her nerve was dying. It all fell away from her. She just smiled, forcing down all her sorrow and discomfort and palpable regret. She hoped the smile was convincing. That he believed her when she joked back with him: “A _very _long night. You’re right.”

Her façade must not have been as strong as she thought it was. He stared at her, searching her face and not reacting to the tiny joke she’d meant to slip him back. He blinked and glanced down at his board, and then to the doorway. She followed his gaze, wondering if someone had walked in. But the entryway to the study was empty. She turned back, starting to ask if something was wrong, when she realized he was already writing again. His expression was that same impossible to decipher once more. She tensed a little, at the thought of him asking her what she was thinking about. But, to her admitted relief, it wasn’t about that. When he showed her the board, she realized his expression hadn’t been about her at all. It had been about something completely different.

‘He got caught speeding?’ Speeding was underlined. Twice.

The question was simple, but at the same time it punched her in the face. She straightened, blinking rapidly. She was so surprised that her earlier feelings of guilt and sorrow evaporated like water under the sun. Once she got over the topic change, she frowned, genuinely puzzled. “I…you mean Winston Price?”

He nodded. The look on his face pinched, and tight as he waited tensely. It made her sad to see…that he was so starved for information but at the same time, so resigned he might not get it.

She stared at him for a few moments. She glanced over her shoulder, looking to the door just like Malcolm had, but they were still alone. She turned back around and sighed, wilting just a little. The night felt like forever ago, with everything considered. Weeks of on-edge hospital visits…what felt like ages of not being allowed to come here and see him. But at the same time, it felt like it was just yesterday, simply because it was so engrained in her mind. All the terror, all the horror. She closed her eyes, trying her best not to see it printed there on the back of her lids.

“Yeah, he’d been…pulled over. By an officer named Noah Cain. He was…going thirty-seven miles over the speed limit. It was routine stop.” Malcolm blinked rapidly, the frown only growing more severe with every detail she gave. “Thankfully, Noah remembered the description you gave to Gil, over the phone. The brown hair, gray eyes. One thing led to another, and…” She frowned. “Didn’t…Gil tell you this story, yet?” She honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he _hadn’t. _He treated Malcolm like he was made of glass, nowadays. He might have sided with Jessica, in thinking he couldn’t take news like that.

The thought was not only infuriating, but it was also daunting. To think that _she _might have to be the one to tell him everything.

For some reason, she wasn’t sure she would be able to.

But to her sheer relief, he nodded. The motion was small, and he looked off to the side once he managed it. For a while, everything was still, again. The silence was growing much too oppressive. Dani hunched her shoulders, chewing on the inside of her lip. Eventually, Malcolm picked up the marker again. Dani’s eyes flickered back up to him when he flipped it around for her. ‘That doesn’t make sense.’ He looked lost, or like he was trying to figure out the punchline. Dani straightened a little, sharing his confusion. Once he knew she’d read this, he brought it back to him to write more. He flipped the board back around. ‘He’s too smart for that.’ It was almost like he was trying to accuse her of lying. But she could see on his face that he was too befuddled to do that. It wasn’t anger that was on his face, it was just genuine puzzlement.

She frowned a little, not quite sure. She made a face, shaking her head a little. “Yeah, I…I don’t know, he _was _too smart for it, I guess…” He’d killed all those people, tortured all of them, had Bright for over a _year, _and to get caught speeding? She guessed with everything, she hadn’t thought all that much about it. She’d just been so relieved it had happened she hadn’t questioned it. Probably out of some kind of fear that if she didn’t question it, it would stay real. It wouldn’t go away in a puff of smoke. “But…that’s what happened. He was speeding, late one night. Got pulled over…the rest is history.” She said this hollowly.

Malcolm still wasn’t convinced. He looked down at the blankets, like he was asking _them _what _they _thought of it. She let him think, knowing that he needed it. He stared for a couple more moments, before he shook his head and erased the board again.

He picked up the marker and wrote for her: ‘What about Martin Whitly?’

_Again, _she was hit with surprise. “I…” She hesitated, before she eventually shook her head. “I don’t know, he…_Gil _talked to him, mostly, whenever he _did _talk to him. I know that your mom must have been trying to talk to him, too…”

His confusion mounted. His frown grew. ‘He didn’t help?’

She fell short, with this. She could place the look on his face better. Though he was trying to hide it, she could _sense_ it. It was a look a kid might wear when they were told there was no Santa. Like they were told that this year, for their birthday, there would be no presents or cake. That this Saturday, they had school.

Like they were in trouble, and their dad didn’t do a single thing to help them.

It was the face of a severely disappointed, lost kid.

She was disarmed, seeing him look that way. Especially about Martin Whitly. She knew that their relationship was complicated…but seeing him look like this, in this context, was enough to take the words out of her mouth. She was mute, just looking at him in silence, digesting this expression he wore. But there wasn’t anything she could really _say. _“I’m sorry…Bright…” she murmured after a while, not really knowing what else there was to get out. “I really don’t know. I guess…not…not from what _I_ knew, anyway…”

He dropped the board, writing nothing else. His eyes slid to the side again, heavy and thoughtful with things she couldn’t begin to describe. She wracked her brain, struggling to come up with something to say. But the moment she actually started to try and get something out, Malcolm was suddenly cringing and ducking his head. At first, she thought he was in pain from something. But then, after gasping in a harsh choke, he started to cough. Her eyes rounded out a little when he fell into a hacking fit, hiding his mouth away in his elbow and heaving out after every inhale. It was violent and unexpected. Out of the blue.

“Malcolm? Are you okay?” Hastily, he nodded his head in between his coughs, trying to slow his breathing down in between and calm down. He still had a few more in him, though. Dani wilted, glancing for the door again. “Should I…should I go and get someone? Your mom? Is your nurse here?” He shook his head, even faster. Still coughing just a little, he picked his head up from his arm, clamping his mouth closed and trying to clear his throat, rather than hack out a lung like he’d been doing. She still looked doubtful but he shook his head again, waving a hand as if to dismiss the mere thought of getting anyone. She wasn’t swayed. “You sure?”

He nodded, coming back to himself. Still making a noticeable effort to regularize his breathing. Still coughing a little every other second, he picked up his marker and wrote a quick: ‘I’m OK.’

She said nothing, but eyed him when he erased it and wrote something else instead.

‘Talk about you. Tell me what I missed. How have you been?’

She smiled at little, at this, her suspicion fading. “Ah…you know me, Bright,” she said loosely, shrugging one shoulder. “I’m always the same.” Her smile was weak, when she said this. Her voice, unusually dull. Just like her eyes were. “Same old, same old…”

Maybe he noticed, maybe he didn’t. But he _did _write down: ‘I’ve been gone. I’ve missed the same old.’

She still didn’t seem too sure.

He wiped it all away and made one last attempt. ‘I missed you. Missed talking to you.’

She smiled. Softened. Warmed, looking at him and his earnest blue eyes. Not wracked with pain or sorrow, or shining with tears. But calm. Sincere, open. _His _eyes. Finally, after everything, she was seeing his eyes, and they were there to _stay. _For now, at least. So she found herself being persuaded, and smiling more, thinking to herself that she might as well go along with whatever he wanted, if only she would be able to _keep _seeing those eyes. If only she could make sure they weren’t going to go away. “Alright,” she reasoned, a strange tugging in her chest when she saw how happy the words made him. “But it won’t be interesting,” she was fast to warn him.

He put the board down and settled back. A clear way of saying he didn’t mind.

She grinned a little more. Shifted so she was facing more towards him. “Well…I got a couple new plants, for the apartment,” she started off, _really_ showcasing the whole ‘not interesting’ thing right from the start. Maybe half-hoping he’d regret getting into this, and tell her to stop.

But he didn’t. He just smiled. And listened. Happy to listen when she went on.

And when he felt the need to cough again, he held it back.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She was fussing. Again. It was her favorite pastime, now. She was good at it.

Jessica fluttered about the room like a very pissed-off fairy. She was tidying up the room, organizing the shelves and rearranging the medications upon medications that were currently kept in a box near the door. Above it, the schedule for each one was laid out. The nurses had been nice enough to type it for them. But given that it was two pages long, the hope for simplicity was out of the realm of possibility. Jessica was stacking them together, arranging them neatly despite the haphazard way she was rambling. “And you wouldn’t _believe _what the man at the pharmacy said to me today— when did people get so _crass? _And he was supposed to be a _professional!”_

Ainsley shot Malcolm a look. The grin she was wearing got Malcolm’s to begin to grow.

Jessica went on, entirely oblivious. She moved on the laundry, folding it very purposefully and with much more force than a T-shirt _needed _to be folded with. “I _swear, this _is why I don’t bother going out by myself— I’d have Louisa go and do it for me but she’s al_ready _on thin ice— you know what, never mind— it might be good for her to take some of that load, I am still _very _upset with her. Getting her out of the house might be the happy medium I’ve been looking for.”

Malcolm’s smile started to wilt. Ainsley saw this, and quickly leapt to try and fix it. She leaned over and nudged him. When he looked at her, she smirked and started to move her mouth along with their mom’s, making faces as she started to mock her behind her back. Jessica was still oblivious and kept talking. Sure enough, Malcolm was immediately beginning to brighten, his smile coming back as Ainsley started to make dramatic gestures as their mother continued to rant. “But the house is a complete _mess, _she’s too busy doing _that _I suppose! But she’d better do it _faster, _it’s like a tornado blew through here! I wanted it to be perfect for when you came back home and I have _linen _on the _banister!” _She said this like it was the worst thing known to man. As Ainsley mouthed along, she threw her hands up in the air and waved them all around. Malcolm tried to suppress his laughter.

“Ainsley, don’t even get me _started _on the state of _your _room— you’re a grown woman and your room is a _pigsty, _no _wonder _you’d rather be down here all the time— your brother is much neater than you— he always _has _been! I remember one time when you were little and you two got outside somehow, I come out to get you and find you absolutely _covered, head to toe _in _mud, _like you’re _made _of it, Malcolm just standing there beside you, not a _single_ piece of dirt on him, and I thought to myself that— _Ainsley!” _

Ainsley had just been putting her hands on her hips, shaking her head this way and that as she continued to mimic her. With this change, though, her eyes were flying huge and she was immediately freezing. Jessica had finally turned around— now, she was currently glowering at her daughter, having caught her in the act. Ainsley was stunned for a second; when the moment passed, she just grinned though. “I’m sorry,” she giggled, not sounding sorry at all. Malcolm laughed too. Jessica’s eyes flickered between them; at first they were sharpening with reproach, but when she saw the grin on her son’s face, and even heard a tiny laugh, she was immediately relaxing again. In fact, for a heartbeat, seeing her children sitting there together and giggling, her eyes went soft. The tiniest smile started to tug itself onto her face.

Malcolm noticed. His smile stayed, but it turned a little more genuine.

They held each other’s gaze for a long moment. Both of them seeming to have a lot behind the smile.

“Mom, I have like, _one _shirt on the ground upstairs,” Ainsley scoffed, effectively killing the moment.

Jessica blinked rapidly, like she was rousing from a dream. It took a second, her mouth hanging halfway open, before she could get back into gear, shaking her head and regaining her sharp look. Malcolm’s smile stayed, though, as he watched her go over and smack at her shoulder. Too lightly to hurt, but enough to show her irritation. _“Mess _is _mess, _darling,” she snapped. Ainsley rolled her eyes, looking at Malcolm as if to ask: ‘You see what I put up with?’ “What if someone were to walk in unexpectedly? Then what would you do?”

“Ask them why the heck they’re in my childhood bedroom,” she drawled, tipping her head back. “Nobody is gonna _unexpectedly _walk in.”

_“I _might unexpectedly walk in!” Jessica protested.

“Well then you’ll have asked for it, because obviously you already know about the shirt.”

Jessica blew out her cheeks, shaking her head. Ainsley caught Malcolm’s eyes again, and her smirk came back. She was just about to say something, when all of a sudden she perked, looking down. Malcolm perked too, when he heard her phone vibrating. She wormed it out of her pocket. He tried to catch the Caller ID, but she moved too fast, quickly putting it face down on her lap. “Crap,” she sighed. Malcolm frowned. She noticed, and quickly regained her smile. “I gotta take this, sorry.”

He started to grab for the marker, but she was already turning and rushing out of the room. Jessica’s eyes tracked her as she went. Malcolm watched her go, disappointment and confusion falling over him. He turned back to his mother, his smile gone. When she noticed, there was clear regret in her eyes. Deciding to forego the marker, he forced himself to speak, trying not to grimace too much and trying not to open his mouth too much too, at the same time. “Who wash that?” he got out, his eyebrows pulling together.

She hesitated.

He could see it— he could _read_ it on her face, that she knew.

But he got what he expected. After a couple heartbeats of her deciding what she wanted to do, she got a smile back on her face. She shook her head, shrugging one shoulder and trying to dismiss it. “Oh…you know her— always…doing _something!” _He glanced after his sister again, his trouble building. Jessica looked between him and the door. She glanced at the floor, her hands wringing together. When she looked back up, she armed herself with a smile she hoped looked more promising than it felt. “I’m going to make you a little something,” she announced. Malcolm turned back to her, his face falling. He started to open his mouth again, but she was already leaving, just like Ainsley had. “You don’t have to eat all of it, if you don’t want—but you need _something _to eat, darling!”

“Mother!” he tried to call her back.

She felt horrible, but didn’t stop. She rushed out of the room and down the hall, leaving the study fast. She was about to rush to the kitchen, wondering what in the world she should actually make for him, when she slowed a little, catching her daughter’s eyes. Ainsley was standing at the end of the hall, the phone raised up to her ear. She perked, when she saw her.

Their eyes met, and her stomach clenched when she saw the grave look her daughter was wearing.

Neither of them said anything. But they didn’t need to— the mirrored look of unease was clear enough.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was dark. He couldn’t sleep.

He stared up at the ceiling instead, finding that it came easy to him…blanking and staring off into space…losing track of time because time was all you had, to spend. It was even _more _familiar to him to stare into the dark, like this. He’d always stared off into the dark, when he was away, spending entire nights just staring and not sleeping at all, because he was too scared to _let _himself. Sometimes he would talk to JT— he remembered more instances of that. Or at least, he remembered vague _notions _of it. Talking to a camera that was continuously rolling, soaking up every ounce of his torture like it was a sponge, pretending it was a friend. Because it was the closest thing he could get, to one.

He remembered flashes of things, mostly. Bits and pieces were coming together. But mostly, everything was fractured. Small and fleeting, and yet even those little pieces were enough. Even _those_ little pieces terrified him. Made his skin crawl, his hands shake, his heart pound. Now was when those fragments came back. Leaked back to him like water he couldn’t plug up, despite his best efforts.

_“Get back up.” Hands grabbing his shirt collar, yanking him up from the ground. Nothing but callousness to meet his cry of pain when Winston just said, “I’m not nearly finished with you yet.”_

_Sitting in the corner, carefully scratching yet another line into the wood paneling. Counting to himself a dull, hollow: “Sixty-seven…”_

_Pushing and yanking and pulling at the restraint, struggling to twist and dislocate his ankle until tears ran down his face, both from pain and from frustration. _

_Slumping against the wall, staring into the dark with his head on his knees, feeling loneliness and despair like a hole in his chest as he hugged himself around the middle. Softly murmuring, just so there would be _some _kind of sound in the cabin: “I’m _here_…”_

_Cramped and enclosed in a tiny space, feeling one second away from screaming, from breaking down, from banging his head against the floor until he fell unconscious or died, because that would be better than suffering through one more _second _of being stuck in this car trunk, please— please let me out, please _please_ I can’t take this anymore—!_

_Laying on the ground with his mouth wide open, so he wouldn’t choke on his own blood._

He blinked fast, trying to shake himself out of it. He grimaced, screwing his eyes tightly shut and pressing his lips together with just as much force. He reached up to rub at his forehead, as if he could manually clear away the lingering thoughts. When all of a sudden, his inhale hitched. He quickly changed to folding his elbow over his mouth, letting out a few coughs. They were muffled, but hacking. He let his arm fall once the spell passed. There was a frown on his face, as he stared straight up. He swallowed hard, and tried to shake his head clear one more time, but he had to cough again. Once more, he coughed into his elbow, grimacing hard when pain started to ring in his throat.

Once _this _spell passed, it left his eyes a little wider. His expression turned a little more desperate.

He stared up at the ceiling again. But this time, more pleadingly.

Sure enough, under his breath, he started to whisper, with a voice that was painfully hoarse: “…Please…please_…please_…”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“Mom…_mom…”_

She grimaced, making a face when she felt her shoulder being lightly jostled. Jessica began to pry her eyes open little by little, grimacing against the light that was streaming into the room. She found herself staring up at Ainsley. Her daughter was hunched over her; at first, she didn’t say anything at all. Jessica frowned, looking over at the clock. Her eyes widened a little when she realized it was 10:37 in the morning. Immediately, she was sitting up fast. Thankfully, Ainsley drew away fast enough to avoid getting smacked in the head. Jessica’s eyes were huge. “Why did you let me sleep this long!?” she demanded. She hadn’t slept this late in _ages. _She was always up at at _least _seven, just in case she was needed. But _ten? _Almost _eleven?_

Ainsley kept just staring at her. She was still quiet. But her eyes were troubled. Her eyes gave away everything.

Immediately, a coldness was washing over her. Jessica looked at her daughter, trying to go through every worst possible thing that could have happened. Malcolm was upset, he was mad, the press was back, something had happened with Winston, Ainsley had woken up in the morning to see that he was _gone, her son was gone again, somehow Winston had gotten away, he’d come to take her son again and they’d lost him again, they’d— _

“Malcolm’s sick,” Ainsley finally managed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!! Here is chapter eleven! It's probably one of the last very heavy chapters-- after this chapter will be a very big turning point in terms of focus so I hope you're excited!! And I hope you like this chapter more than I do though I say that every chapter!  
Thank you guys so much for reading and for being patient with me! This chapter is a good 30 pages so I hope that it makes up for the break in between. I hope you guys like it and if you do I'd love to hear from you!!! <3

“Alright, Malcolm; take a deep breath in for me, please.”

The inhale started slow and strong, but halfway through, it hitched. Crumbling in on itself, Malcolm instead had to turn his head away from Allison and start coughing. The nurse drew away, her lips pursing as she watched him struggle to get through the fit. Each cough was hacking and coarse. By the time he was through, his throat was ringing with pain and his eyes were watering. Breathing much more ragged now, he sagged back into his pillow as if he was exhausted— and he certainly looked the part. Nobody mistook the bags under his eyes, or the way he was much shakier than he typically was. He was much paler, too. Not by much, but enough to notice.

“Have you been doing your incentive spirometer, Malcolm?” she asked after a couple of seconds. Malcolm’s eyes flickered to his bedside table, cluttered with just about everything under the sun. There was a pitcher of water there, always refilled by Louisa whenever he took so much as a sip. There were a couple books his mother had put there in case he got bored (which he always _was_). There was the photo of him and Ainsley, and another photo of him and Ainsley with their mother. Ainsley had gone out and fetched him breakfast from the kitchen before she’d realized he was burning a hot fever, so now it was laying there untouched.

And, just as untouched, was the little mechanism he’d promised to use but never got around to it.

“I…” He started to try and defend himself, but there wasn’t really anything he could say. Thankfully, another couple bursts of coughs broke him off and gave him a good excuse not to finish the thought. They were just as good an answer, anyway. No, he hadn’t been using it— between physical therapy and constant medications, getting fourteen teeth ripped out of his skull, and trying to come to terms with everything that had happened in the first place, it had slipped their minds. He was supposed to use it ten time every hour— how was he meant to constantly keep up with that? Granted, _any _use of it would have been better than _no use, _but regardless.

Allison got the message. Her voice was just the tiniest bit impatient when she spoke over his coughing. “Malcolm, that incentive spirometer was exactly what was keeping _this _from happening. It helps you keep your lungs open when you’re on bedrest— now they sound horrible.” He said nothing, just sagging back into the pillow again, feeling even _more _worn out than before. He let his eyes slide closed, grabbing the blanket with his good arm and tugging it tighter around himself; he was freezing. Allison caught the movement and turned, reaching into her bag and fishing out a thermometer.

Jessica watched anxiously, her hands clasped tightly at the level of her chest as she looked at her son. Ainsley stood bedside her, her eyes troubled with worry just like they’d been up in her room, earlier. Jessica had hoped the worry was unfounded but now that she saw Malcolm, she realized the worry her daughter had, had a reason to be there. Ainsley was hardly ever worried— not enough to show it, anyway. Malcolm just looked _that_ bad. Without him even saying anything or telling her anything, Jessica had known from just one glance, upon entering the room.

She was kicking herself now, as she watched Allison turn back and request he put the thermometer under his tongue. They’d checked it earlier, right before she’d gotten there. 99.2. She prayed it hadn’t gone up any higher. _Stupid, _she thought to herself, seeing how miserable her son looked as he lay in bed, close to shivering. _Stupid, you’re so stupid, you’re so stupid. _Why hadn’t she _noticed _this, last night? She was in the room all afternoon and evening— why hadn’t she noticed he was starting to get sick? And why hadn’t she remembered that stupid little machine? What had gotten him sick in the first place? Had it been them? The nurses? She remembered in the hospital, they’d had to wear masks with him— should they have kept doing that? Why hadn’t one of the nurses _said _something!?

“99.7.” Jessica perked when Allison drew away from Malcolm, reading the temperature aloud for everyone to hear. She wilted, looking fretfully at Malcolm. But he didn’t react to the number; his eyes had slid shut again. He looked so tired, she wondered if he wouldn’t fall asleep right then and there. The nurse thought for a moment, looking torn. She looked at Ainsley and Jessica, who quickly reverted their attentions back to her, already trying to hang onto every word she had to say.

“I can call the doctor,” she started off. “He’ll likely want to see him…until then, I can’t give you a diagnosis myself. But I’ve seen plenty of cases like this, and I can tell you what to do to keep him comfortable in the meantime.” Jessica nodded anxiously, her eyes flickering back to her son as she listened. “You’re going to want to keep the head of the bed elevated— more so than you have been up to this point. The more upright he is, the easier he’ll find it to breathe.

“I’d encourage fluids,” Allison went on. “Drinking water will keep him hydrated but it’ll also loosen up all the secretions in his lungs— it’ll make his cough more productive, help clear them out a little bit more. So have tissues somewhere, too. I can’t tell you what the doctor will order, but usually with cases like these we see a lot of nebulizer treatments— albuterol, and things like that to get the airway open again…” She trailed off, before she shook her head. “But that’s for later,” she said dismissively. “For now, we can do a cool washcloth on the forehead…Tylenol for the fever…things like that.”

Jessica and Ainsley were mute, just staring anxiously at Malcolm, whose eyes were still shut.

Allison nodded. “Alright, then. I’ll go call the doctor.” She turned and started out into the hall. Once she exited the study and walked a few feet down, she started to get out her phone from her pocket, readying herself to relay the situation. When she was stopped by a sudden voice.

“Excuse me…” She roused, turning and perking when she realized Jessica had followed her outside. The woman’s hands were still clasped, as though she was praying for something. Maybe she _was_. “I’m terribly sorry to cut in, it’s just…” She took in a slow breath. “You said you’ve seen cases like these before?” Allison nodded. Jessica glanced over her shoulder, back into the study. Ainsley had moved to sit at Malcolm’s bedside. Her mouth was moving, but her voice was too quiet to hear. Malcolm wasn’t reacting to whatever she was saying; his eyes were staying shut. Maybe he really _did _fall asleep.

She turned back, her expression dark with apprehension. “And…those cases— were they as…_weak _as my son is?” Allison’s face fell a little. She glanced back into the study, too. Likely recalling all the details that had been ingrained into Jessica’s mind. How stick-thin he was, how he couldn’t even sit up for thirty minutes by himself because it hurt too much, how he picked at his food like a bird and hardly ate a single thing whole. “I just…wanted to ask…if you’ve seen a case like my son’s— _exactly _like his.”

She took her time answering. When she did, her words were slow. “I haven’t seen a case like his before, no,” she admitted. Jessica was deflating at once, disappointment crawling over her face. “I can’t say I’ve _ever_ seen a case like Malcolm’s before, because it is such extraordinary circumstances,” she elaborated. “But I _can _say that we’re going to do everything we can to help him. And he’s reacted positively to treatment so far. I’m sure that this will follow the same course.”

She began to brighten, very slowly and cautiously. Her hands clenched tighter. “So…you think this is just…something he can get over fast?” she asked. Allison’s smile vanished, when she saw the hopeful light in Jessica’s eyes, only building the more she pressed. “You think that this is— something _small, _something he’ll be able to get through? Or— …I know he’s likely to get sicker than you, or me…but he’ll pull through it? It’s not something…we should be too worried about?”

She hesitated. It was silent for much too long. Jessica’s face started to fall, in the quiet.

Allison’s eyes flickered back to the study, and then to Jessica again. She smiled. Jessica began to regain her grin, too. Before she yanked the rug out from under her with her response. “Let me call the doctor and get back to you on that, okay?” Jessica opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Allison was turning on her heel, walking down the hall more and redirecting her attention to the phone again. She dialed and brought it up to her ear. Eventually, she got far enough away that her voice was too low to pick up, just like Ainsley’s was.

Jessica stood, staring after her blankly.

She looked back at her two children, through the windows of the study’s door.

Ainsley was laughing and saying something. Malcolm’s eyes were open again. They were only half-lidded, but at least he was making the effort.

There was a smile on his face. He was laughing a little too, at whatever she’d said.

Jessica watched them talk and laugh. Staring at her son and how pale he was— seeing him give the tiniest shiver, underneath his blankets.

A pit started to open up in her stomach.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

All it had taken was a brief text from Ainsley, and Gil was rushing over. Louisa let him in and started to lead him back, but he already knew the way. He was so worried, he didn’t even think about it when he practically shouldering her aside and making for the study. Or the fact he ignored her greeting entirely and didn’t even glance in her direction as he beelined, instead. He heard Jessica’s voice before he actually rounded the corner to get to the study; he could hear her in the middle of some kind of rant. He slowed, uncertainty causing his steps to stutter. But he didn’t come to a complete stop.

“…glad to see your priorities are straight.” He recognized the tone of voice she was using. It was the tone of voice she was using when she tried to appear mad, but really wasn’t. He’d had plenty of experiences with that voice, in the past. Times where, fresh after her husband’s arrest, she had tried to appear defensive and irritated when he and Jackie brought over meals or checked in on the kids. She really hadn’t been mad but she had tried to make it _seem_ like she was, just to try and make everything easier. He’d seen in her eyes that there was no actual malice, there.

Sure enough, when he came to the entryway and hesitated there, he could see on her face that she wasn’t truly mad. Of course she wasn’t— she was talking to Malcolm. Her words were barbed and she was trying to pass off a deadpanned expression. But her eyes were soft. And deep in the recesses of it, so was her voice. “Have you even stopped to think about—?”

She broke off, when she realized Malcolm wasn’t looking at her anymore. His eyes had caught on the doorway, on Gil, who was now lingering once again, like that stranger that wasn’t sure whether or not they fit into the picture. When she saw Malcolm look away, she was fast to follow his gaze. Gil was already fighting a cringe, knowing what was going to happen. And yet it still stung when their eyes met. Jessica looked at him and on _sight_, she was souring. Her lips were pressing tighter, and they were pursing ever so slightly. She said absolutely nothing, when she saw him. Not a hello, not a yell. And yet she might as well have screamed, or slapped him across the face, for all the pain her look caused him.

Malcolm didn’t notice. Or if he did, he didn’t mention it. In fact, to Gil’s surprise, he lit up when he saw him. He _smiled, _when he realized who it was standing there. At first, that fact alone was enough to render him shocked. That he was _happy _to see him, again. That right there, would have been enough. That right there would have gotten him beaming, would have given him such a rush of relief, would have caused him to _break down and cry _all on its own, if he had the chance to dwell on it for more than a couple of seconds.

But then he noticed the _second _thing about it.

That he was _actually smiling._

Gil grinned. The moment he did, Malcolm’s smile was getting even wider. Life was perking up in his dull eyes, making them shine just a little more. “Kid!” he exclaimed, making Malcolm grin even wider. Apparently Jessica had finally caved underneath the kid’s excessive asking and pestering and had given him the temporary teeth. He had all of them back, and it was clear he was over the moon because of it. “You look great!”

Malcolm beamed. “I know!” His _voice _was yet another slap in the face. It hadn’t been long, but _any _amount of time now, not hearing Malcolm or not hearing _from _him, felt like a lifetime. He didn’t even _recall _the last time Malcolm sounded this happy, either. The details were just mounting, Gil scrambling desperately to grab onto all of them and not let them go— to remember them. His beam, his voice bursting with happiness, that light in his eyes…Gil was overjoyed, to actually have these _good _things, for once.

But he stopped short, when Jessica stepped just a fraction over to the side, her eyes demanding his come back. And once they did, everything else was dying. On _her _face, all he saw was strain and sorrow and fear and _anger. _Anger boiled in the back of her expression, hot enough to scald. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her tongue was thrust furiously into her cheek. Gil’s smile faded. He looked back at Malcolm, and from there, he saw all the things he _hadn’t_ before. All the things he’d let himself overlook, in the brief, blind moment of happiness.

Malcolm _didn’t _look great. He looked pale. His hair was messed up but he wasn’t making an effort to fix it like he normally did. His eyes were bright, but they were _too _bright. Feverishly so. He was layered with about four different blankets, all heavy quilts, yet he was hugging them all to him like he was freezing. There were tissues already stacked high in the trashcan beside his bed. His bedside table had been cleared for a humidifier which was currently going.

Gil’s smile faded, little by little bit, until it was gone completely.

Once Gil lost his, there wasn’t much of a hope for Malcolm. The light died in his eyes and his grin dissipated as well. His voice was soft and all his energy was gone when he murmured, “You don’t have to be like that. It’s not as—” Unable to finish, abruptly, he turned his head, ducking his mouth under the blankets and hacking. Ainsley, sitting at his bedside, closed her eyes and ducked her head too. Jessica wilted, hovering over him as he continued to cough, anxiety rolling over her face like clouds.

Gil’s stomach dropped faster as Malcolm continued to cough— it was like the spell would never end. It didn’t even sound like it resolved; it was more like Malcolm just got too tired to keep going. Gradually the hacking tapered off until it was nothing. When Malcolm picked his head back up, he looked exhausted. He reached up to press his hand against his forehead and when he did, Gil caught how his hand shook and trembled. Violent, but weak at the same time. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he finished, his voice hoarse, going through a throat that was already ruined by all his _other _coughing fits.

Gil opened his mouth to reply, but Jessica was beating him to it. “Do not even _try, oh, _you’re abso_lutely _ridiculous.” She shot her son a glare he didn’t respond to— _this _time, she _did _look furious enough to fit the bill. Malcolm didn’t acknowledge her. He stared blandly off into space, as she looked pointedly at Gil. Every word of hers was lined with thorns. “His fever’s climbed to 100.2,” she said. Gil’s face fell even more. Jessica almost sounded satisfied with the reaction as she started gathering up stray tissues and throwing them away, grumbling: “I’m _sure _next time we check it, it’ll have reached 101.”

_“Mother…_it’s _fine,” _Malcolm sighed.

She shook her head once, hard and fast. “It is not _fine, _that you’re _sick,” _she snapped.

He closed his eyes, sighing and turning his head away from her a little.

Ainsley had reproach in her eyes and her voice when she murmured: “Little _harsh_, Mom.”

Jessica fumed, saying nothing. She just kept picking up Malcolm’s bed, straightening the blankets when she was through with that. Malcolm’s eyes stayed shut. Ainsley glanced at her brother worriedly, before she turned to look at Gil. She looked injured and concerned. She looked like she was looking at him for answers. At first he blanked, not knowing what in the world he was supposed to say. He hesitated, looking first at Malcolm and then to Jessica, still rummaging around. He cleared his throat and took a couple tiny steps closer, trying to smile as he started to ask: “Is there…anything _I _can do to—”

_“There is absolutely nothing you can do to help my son!” _she snapped, before he could even finish.

Gil stopped in his tracks at the sudden yell, and Ainsley stiffened.

But it was _nothing_ compared to Malcolm’s reaction.

The instant Jessica was whirling around and yelling out of the blue, Malcolm was reacting viscerally. He flinched back into the pillows, his right arm flying up from underneath the blankets to cover his head, instead. Ainsley jumped out of her skin, she was so surprised with the violent response. But the second she saw, she was putting the dots together and flaring. _“Mom!” _Malcolm flinched again, away from _her_ this time, as he closed his eyes tight and cowered. Jessica whirled around, her eyes wide. At first, she didn’t understand, but the second she laid eyes on her son, guilt was striking her across the face, her eyes widening to be twice their normal size.

For a second, it was silent. In the quiet, Gil’s heart plummeted when he saw that Malcolm was trembling. Jessica’s mouth hung open for a couple of moments before she eventually managed to grab onto her words again. Even though she did, her words were fragile. “Oh…_oh_, I’m—” She rushed to reach out for him. The instant her fingers touched him, he was jerking away with a tiny whimper that ripped Gil’s heart in half. Jessica jerked back a little too, as if burned by her son’s flinch. She paused for a moment, trying to remember how to breathe. Gil saw her eyes grow shinier in the light. “Sweetheart…I’m _so_ sorry…”

She put her hands on his shoulders and this time he didn’t pull away. He opened his eyes but didn’t quite look at her yet. His were just as filled with unshed tears. His lips shook just a fraction— barely noticeable, but Gil picked it up. He was still shaking. Jessica quickly reached up with one hand to brush his bangs back and let her fingers trail down the side of his face. He closed his eyes again. “Malcolm— _darling_…are you okay? I shouldn’t have yelled…I shouldn’t have yelled, I’m so sorry…” He took in a couple shaking breaths. He still wasn’t looking at her yet. She fixed his hair again and let her fingers trail down the other side of his face. “…Sweetheart?” she breathed. “…Are you alright?”

Ainsley was glaring at her reproachfully the whole time, her hand having gone to hold Malcolm’s. He was holding back to her just as tightly.

He took in a fast, deep breath before he picked his head back up. He turned his head just a little, subtly shaking her off. She got the message; she snatched her hands away the very instant she recognized he was trying to get away. She wilted when she saw his eyes were still brimming with tears. But despite this, even though he was very well aware of the stinging, he tried to smile at her and shake his head. “I’m fine,” he croaked. She stared at him with all the doubt in the world. He shook his head again. “You— …just surprised me. Is all,” he murmured.

She searched his face, her sorrow only mounting. “Darling, I wasn’t thinking, I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine.” The words were flat, and loud. They warned her not to press. So did the fact that he looked away from her, down at the blankets again. Jessica tried to interject and say more, but he spoke before she had the chance, his tone just as warning-filled. “I’m fine, just forget it.” He looked down and his eyes landed on his hand, still clasped tight in Ainsley’s. Quickly, he wrenched it away from her. Ainsley’s face fell, but she was just as fast as her mother was at complying, as she let go.

Jessica hesitated, staring at him sorrowfully before she asked a tiny, “Is there…anything I can do for you…sweetheart…?”

He shook his head. Once. The motion tiny.

She hesitated even more, before she gave a tiny nod. “…Okay.” The singular word fell flat. Malcolm still didn’t look at her. She noticed he was still shaking. After a long stretch of silence, she turned away from him. Gil noticed when she did, that _her _lower lip trembled just a little, just like her son’s had. Her eyes caught on Gil’s, and they flashed. His hands clenched tight at his sides when she shot him yet another glare, this one filled with even _more_ loathing than the last few.

Abruptly, she rushed out of the room. Ainsley stared after her, still cross.

Gil paused, sparing one more glance at Malcolm. His eyes were closed. He said and did nothing, for right now. Before he could think too much about it, Gil turned and rushed after Jessica. She was halfway down the hall by the time he got into it. “Jessica!” At first, she was just going to ignore him. She kept walking, as if she hadn’t heard. But he called out again: “Jessica!” This time she stopped. She whirled around, wiping her eyes as if by doing that, her tearful expression would be less noticeable.

He slowed, coming to a stop a few feet away. His eyes were rounded out with sorrow and remorse alike. For a couple moments, they just stared at each other in silence. Neither sure what to say. Eventually, he managed to stutter out: “I’m…Jessica I’m— I’m _so_ sorry…”

She stared at him hard at first, before her face broke out into a scornful smile. He faltered, when he saw her grin, not sure what she was meaning. But when she started to laugh, just as baleful, he started to realize. “Oh, you _are?” _she asked, her voice scathing. He grew a little more defensive, but the sorrow was still the most prominent emotion on his face. Jessica laughed and laughed, until it died away into nothing. Until she brought herself to glare at him yet again. Her voice dripped with poison when she growled: “Well doesn’t that just _fix everything?” _

He opened his mouth. But nothing came out.

She didn’t expect anything to.

She just turned on her heel and kept rushing down the hall, away from him.

Away from her daughter, who had glared at her the entire way out of the room.

Away from her son, so easily frightened and startled to tears simply by her speaking louder than normal out of the blue.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“Do you feel better?” Ainsley asked.

The respiratory therapist had just stepped out of the room after getting Malcolm through another breathing treatment. The nebulizer was sitting on his bed, still. The bed had been positioned so he was sitting at a ninety-degree angle. It was hurting him. But apparently it promoted ‘better oxygenation’ so he was stuck here. Ainsley was siting on the end of his bed, an obscene amount of hope in her eyes as she waited for his answer. It came, however gradually. Fighting the urge not to wince from the pressure on his hips that was his own weight, he replied, “Yeah. A little.”

Her eyes turned more sympathetic. “You still sound like you’ve been put through the garbage disposal.”

“Do you _exist _to insult me, now?”

She smirked. _“Someone _has to do it, nobody else is brave enough,” she chirped.

This made him smirk a little, too.

Her smile turned more genuine. “You feel better?” she reiterated. “Really?”

“…Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, I think these treatments are really…doing the trick.”

She brightened. “Good! Good— Mom’ll be really happy to hear! She’ll do a flip for you!” She leaned out, tapping his knee. “I’m gonna run and tell her real quick— and I have a call to make. So I’ll be right back, ‘kay?” He just smiled and nodded. She jumped up to her feet, significantly more energized than she had been before as she turned and rushed out of the study to track their mother down. Malcolm watched her go. Tracking her as she left the room and went around the corner. Until she disappeared from sight.

The moment she did, he deflated. Exhaustion crawled back over his face the split second before he doubled over and coughed into his blankets. Once the spell passed he fell back into the pillows again, as if he weighed a hundred pounds.

The look on his face was just as heavy.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

February 18th. 6:45 pm.

“It’s fine…everything is fine everything is okay it’s all fine it’s going to be fine I’m fine it’s okay it’s fine_ it’sokayit’sfineeverything’sfineI’mfine_…” Malcolm’s whispering was broken and fragmented, and hardly able to be picked up by the camera. Tears were rushing down his face even though his expression was blank— he wasn’t even blinking. His eyes were huge and distant. His hands seemed to have a mind of their own— they were going up to tug and pull at his hair, thy were pressing against his cheeks, they were going down so he could hug and rock himself on the ground.

When the footsteps came, Malcolm didn’t react. And he still didn’t react, when Winston approached from the dark. He still just kept mumbling and whispering to himself. Winston watched and listened for a couple heartbeats before he seemed to get bored. Without warning he kicked him hard in the stomach, grumbling an irritated: “Shut up.” Malcolm was nearly thrown with the kick; his blank expression immediately twisted into one of agony as he curled up, his arms folding back to shield himself from another one, should it come. But it didn’t. Winston gave him a chance to recover.

The very second he was able to choke down a rasping breath, Malcolm was letting it go in a weak wheeze, his voice even quieter when he whispered: “I’m ok I’m okay _it’s okay it’s okay everything’s gonna be okay_…” This made Winston scowl; he kicked again, harder this time but in the same exact spot. This kick made Malcolm’s voice choke away into a weak, strained whimper.

The whimper was nearly covered up by Winston’s scream. “I said _shut up!”_ he screeched, bending lower over him. Malcolm cringed away from the scream, balling up even tighter and ducking his head. He didn’t uncurl, so his stomach was more protected when Winston kicked out a third time. All Malcolm did was whimper. Winston scowled as he dropped to his knees, bending so that his ear was near him. He must have still been whispering to himself. He was too confused— he was getting closer and closer to that blank, terrified state they’d found him in. Where all he could do was cry and scream senselessly. It was only a matter of time – possibly only a matter of days – before he lost it completely. He didn’t have the foresight to follow directions and be quiet.

Winston grabbed him and dragged him roughly across the floor, closer to him. Malcolm had lost so much weight, he was easy to manipulate. And he didn’t even try to fight back at all when Winston shoved him to his back and locked his hands around his throat. Malcolm twitched, but that was it. _“Are you deaf!?” _Winston spat, fury suddenly alive in every single syllable. Malcolm cringed but remained still. He was just enduring it, now. Too weak to fight. Winston leaned down even closer, tightening his grip. _“I told you to shut up!”_ he yelled. _“You think you have options, here!? You think you can do whatever you want!?”_

He let go of Malcolm’s throat. Malcolm sucked in a harsh breath; no sooner did he do that, was he grabbed by the front of his shirt and yanked up so they were nose-to-nose. _“You’re here to do one thing!”_ Winston screamed, Malcolm cringing away, crying out pathetically under his breath. Winston shook him harshly. “You’re here to die! You’re here to die _alone_, and _that’s_ it! You don’t have choices, you don’t have power, you don’t have _anything_ here— _I_ have all the power! When I say something, you fucking _listen!_ Why don’t you get that!?

“How long is it going to take for you to _get that!?” _he screamed, shaking him again. Malcolm was still reeling from being strangled; his head lolled limply, like a doll’s. His eyes were still huge and terrified; he looked as blank as he had started. JT wondered if he even really realized what was going on anymore, or if he was registering it. Winston apparently didn’t realize; if he did, he didn’t care. He just kept screaming, shaking him with every other word. “How long is it going to take!? _Huh!?_ How long are you going to keep fighting me!? Answer me!”

Malcolm didn’t. His head just hung. Listless.

When Winston yelled again, his voice was more choked. It was beginning to lose its foundation. “How long are you going to keep fighting!? _How long is it going to take?!”_ The question was wild. It was desperate. Winston shook his head, ducking it low as he stopped shaking Malcolm. He just held him sitting upright by his shirt. “How _long!?”_ The words were shaking now. Winston hunched forward like he was hurt from an open wound. His inhale was sharp and fast, and his next words came out almost like a wail. “How long is it going to take!?”

After he yelled this, he broke off entirely. Though he made no sounds, his shoulders shook with silent sobs. He didn’t speak or move. He just stayed crouched there, holding Malcolm up. After a couple of seconds, Malcolm started to blink slow. He picked his head up with an obscene amount of difficulty and looked at Winston. After being shaken and strangled, his eyes were even fuzzier than they’d been before. But he actually managed to focus on him. For a couple seconds he just stared, watching Winston break down with only a mildest sense of confusion— because that was all he could manage at this point.

But then, slowly, he moved. He raised his arms and reached out. At first, JT thought he was going to try and get him off, or get out of his grip somehow.

But that wasn’t what he did.

What he did, was reach out and wrap his arms around Winston.

Malcolm hugged him, slouching forward so that his head ended up resting on his shoulder. At first, Winston froze. He waited, like he was expecting something more— some way that this was just an effort of fighting, like JT was. But when it was clear that that was all Malcolm was doing, Winston’s shoulders shook again. He cringed and closed his eyes tightly as he let go of Malcolm only so he could wrap his arms around him, too. A couple of sobs wrenched their way out of him.

Malcolm’s arms wound around him a little bit more. Softly, he whispered a thin, trembling: “It’s okay…everything’s gonna be okay…”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The sudden sound of thudding woke her up.

Ainsley was sleeping on the floor of Malcolm’s study. With how everything had been going recently, she’d practically moved in. She hadn’t been in her own room for ages; she didn’t mind, though. The floor was comfortable, with how many blankets and pillows she had. Besides— she knew that if _she _didn’t sleep in here, their mother probably would. She was trying her best not to have Malcolm be subjected to that. Her and Malcolm had stayed up talking for a while, but they’d both fallen asleep. She had no idea what time it was, but given how hard it was to open her eyes, one could only guess that it had been hours ago.

When she heard the first thud, her brain still foggy with sleep, her first thought was that Malcolm had fallen out of bed. Immediately, she was pushing herself up, her bleary eyes going wide as she looked at the floor. It wouldn’t be a surprise if Malcolm _had _fallen— he hadn’t yelled out, but maybe he’d tossed and turned from a nightmare and had ended up rolling right off. But she didn’t see him, there. All she saw was the hardwood floor, illuminated by the dull glow of the nightlight off to the side. The second she realized he wasn’t there, there was _another _thud. And then another.

Reeling, struggling to wave away the fog still clinging to her, Ainsley’s head snapped up. Her second impulse was that he was freaking out again— that for some reason, he was banging his head against the siderails again. But when she scrambled up to her feet and rushed for his bed, he wasn’t facing the railings. He was laying in bed like he always was. He wasn’t hitting his _head_ on the railing; he was hitting his _fist _against it. “Malcolm!?” His eyes were huge and panicked. Was he having a night terror? “Malcolm, what’s wrong!? What are you—!?” She broke off, her eyes going huge.

The second he saw her, he stopped hitting the railing. His eyes were wide open. He looked up at her with all the desperation in the world, pleading with her to do something. She was blank— at first she had no idea what was wrong. But then his hand was flying up and he started to claw at his chest. Her eyes went even bigger and a cold chill went down her spine as she started to connect the dots. His mouth hung open— nothing was getting out, but she was certain he was trying his best to say something. Every inhale was a strained, terrified wheeze. She looked at his chest and saw how fast he was breathing, but how _shallow _it was, too. Her fear grew.

He fought to speak. She looked back at him, looking just as scared as he did. His hand stayed clawing at his chest as he rasped a thin, terrified: “C-…an…’t…” He flinched, shaking his head, unable to finish. But he didn’t need to. Ainsley understood. And her panic only mounted.

“You— you can’t—?” Malcolm struggled to gasp. He was like a fish out of water. She stared at him for just a couple more seconds, before she whirled around, looking to the doorway and raising her voice into a scream she hoped would travel all the way upstairs.

_“Mom!” _she yelled, already fumbling to get her phone out of her pocket and dial for help. _“Mom! Help! Malcolm can’t breathe!” _she screamed.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

They’d made progress.

They were worlds away from where they’d been before. They weren’t sitting anxiously at his bedside, waiting for him to wake up. They weren’t watching him breathe through a tube anymore. He wasn’t scared of them anymore, hiding under his blankets and refusing to so much as glance in their direction. He wasn’t screaming and fighting whenever he was touched, and he wasn’t clinging to that sucker. He was awake, he was aware. He bore scars, both mentally and physically. He was still in a wheelchair. He was still plagued with nightmares. But he was her _son_ again.

They’d come so far, since they’d last been in the hospital.

So _why_, all of a sudden, did it feel like they hadn’t?

Once again, her son was back in the hospital. His nasal cannula had been swapped for an oxygen mask. His two liters had been cranked up to six. While waiting for the ambulance, they’d increased his cannula to four; it had helped in the short run but it obviously hadn’t been enough. He was much more relaxed, now. His breathing was still shallow and every so often she could hear him wheezing on his inhales, but at least he wasn’t fighting for air, or panicking. In fact, after all that had happened this morning, he was exhausted. His eyes were closed and his head was slack on his pillow. He roused when the nurse had placed a new IV into his already-bruised arm, and when they’d set up his antibiotics, but that was pretty much it. Regular conversation didn’t draw his eyes to open. He was probably asleep, by now.

They were trying to be quiet, just in case. 

Or maybe that was just the excuse they were using not to talk.

Jessica was back in the chair she had pulled up to her son’s bedside. Ainsley was standing, leaning back against the wall near the door. Both of their expressions were heavy as they stared at Malcolm, unmoving. Sitting so close to him, Jessica’s heart was tied into knots as she listened to him wheezing with nearly every breath. His temperature was officially at 101.

She was fighting the urge to reach out and hold his hand like she always had when he was in the hospital the first time around. She had to remind herself that _this_ time, if she did, he could wake up— and he likely wouldn’t be very happy, both with being disturbed and with being touched. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, instead, to make sure that she didn’t accidentally do it. She resigned herself to just staring mournfully at her son, both her stomach and her heart lodged hard in her throat.

Silence reigned, in the room. Neither was all that brave enough to break it.

But eventually, after blinking a couple times, Ainsley looked at the clock on the wall. Her eyes flashed and her shoulders drooped. Her voice was deflated when she whispered: “I gotta go to work…” She looked a complete mess— she’d have to run back home and grab something a little more professional than what she was currently wearing, which were pajamas. All she’d had time to do rushing out the door after the paramedics was to throw her coat on as she ran. It was a miracle she’d managed to put _shoes _on. Her hair was a mess and makeup was out of the question, too. If she wanted to be able to make it work and look _halfway _decent, she had to leave now.

Even though she knew it was right and even though she knew she had no choice, there was nothing but regret on her face. Work was the _last_ place she wanted to go. She didn’t want to leave her brother at _all. _But they’d already given her more than her fair share of leeway. She’d be pushing it to expect more. Jessica glanced at her and Ainsley could see her own thoughts reflected there. “Alright…” she sighed, barely audible. “I’ll text you with updates, when we get them…”

Ainsley hesitated, lingering for a couple more moments before she ripped her eyes away from her brother and started for the door. She only got halfway before she stopped short at a knock. Her gut instinct jumped to the fact it might be the doctor, finally coming to see him. She looked back to see that her mother was already standing up from her chair, her eyes lighting up with hope. Ainsley turned back around and called out a soft, “Come in.”

But it wasn’t the doctor that was on the other side— it was Gil.

Ainsley deflated again on impulse, but quickly recovered and smiled. “Oh— hi, Gil,” she murmured, hoping he’d get the memo to be quiet. He came inside, slowly and doubtfully. Ainsley glanced back at Jessica, her stomach twisting a little when she saw the look on her face. Her hope had died and instead, there was a stony, impassive look on her face as she regarded the other. Her eyes flickered to Ainsley, who tried not to react too defensively. She’d called Gil earlier, to tell him what had happened. It was clear that Jessica hadn’t known about it and hadn’t _wanted _it. But he deserved to know— Ainsley wasn’t going to apologize for telling him just because her mom had it out for him.

The blonde turned back to him and pointedly said: “You can come in.” He seemed grateful for the direct invitation. When his eyes landed on Malcolm, she saw how pained they became. He looked just as heartbroken as Jessica had just a few short seconds ago. But sure enough, when Ainsley looked at her mother, she saw that the heartache had been benched. She was looking from her son to Gil, barbed and irritated. Ainsley shot her a glare, but it did nothing, considering she wasn’t looking at her.

Gil stopped a couple feet away from the bed, lingering there awkwardly.

Ainsley’s eyes flickered between the two. Words started building on her tongue, before she looked at the clock again and knew she couldn’t stay. She sighed, shaking her head to clear it and telling herself she would worry about it later. She looked one last time at Malcolm, wishing he was awake so she could tell him she was sorry, before she turned and left the hospital room. She closed the door silently behind her and rushed down the hall, sparsely populated with the rare staff member working their way through the last stretch of the night shift. Leaving behind Jessica and Gil and all the ill-will surrounding them, knowing that, if nothing else, at least there wouldn’t be any conversation to wake Malcolm up.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“…trying not to wake him…”

…

“The doctor said he’s…apparently it’s not…”

“Do you think…?”

“…don’t know if…wait and see…”

Malcolm’s forehead creased slowly. Bits and pieces of everything started to come back together, clicking like puzzle pieces to form a picture that actually made sense. The voices started to grow clearer the more his hearing came back to him. He pried his eyes open little by little— apparently his vision wasn’t as able to bounce back. The colors and shapes took their time in being able to be made out, but eventually he got everything halfway sorted. His eyes open about halfway, Malcolm blinked groggily, looking down at himself, first.

The first thing he noticed was that the blankets on him were different. He didn’t have the snug, thick quilt on him like he had before. The pillow felt different. There was only one. He turned his head slowly, looking around him to see that he wasn’t in the study anymore. The room was about half the size. There was a TV mounted on the wall in front of him, along with a fan. He turned his head a little more to the side to see the source of the voice, and he realized his mother was sitting in a chair near him— a simple chair that didn’t look very comfortable at all. She looked tired— exhausted. The floor was tile and the lights overhead were harsh fluorescent.

He kind of recalled coming here…but it was only now that it really hit him he was in the hospital.

Again.

Jessica had been speaking lowly, in the effort not to rouse him. His heart did an unsteady flip when he realized who it was she’d been talking to. Dani was standing over her shoulder, her arms crossed and her expression worried. For the moment, her eyes were fixed on his mother as she spoke. Jessica had looked distracted, but when she saw Malcolm’s head shift, she was stiffening and perking immediately. Dani was fast to do the same, her eyes widening as they locked with Malcolm’s. Nobody said anything at first, and that was when Malcolm realized the second thing that was different. Before, he’d been wearing a cannula. Now, it was an uncomfortable, constricting mask pressing on his face. But even _more_ constricting was the feeling on his lungs. It felt like a hundred pound weight was sitting squarely on his chest.

“Darling!” Jessica’s voice was ragged with relief to actually see him open his eyes. It was well near four in the afternoon. He’d slept for ages, not waking up for any noise whatsoever. She was starting to fear they would be trapped forever in limbo, like it had felt the last time they were here. Seeing his blue eyes – even slight and even pained, the way they were – was a relief. Her heart tore when she saw her baby wince. The more things were coming back to him the more discomfort and pain he seemed to be in. This was to be expected, but the fact still stung like acid, to her.

She scooted her chair a little closer, reaching out and drawing her fingers through his hair. “Darling, how do you feel?” she cooed, snapping into her relentlessly-worried mode. At first, out of newfound habit, he just laid there and took the comfort she was willing to give. Appreciating this gentle display of kindness without thought because he was just so relieved to be able to have it in the first place. But then his eyes were catching on Dani again, and he remembered himself. She was still looking at him anxiously— nothing had changed. Yet when he saw her, embarrassment was flooding him.

He shifted his head just a little— not by much, but enough to get Jessica off. “I’m—” Oh, that was a mistake. He tried to speak too loudly— he tried to use too much air. Immediately, his voice was catching on his throat and he was coughing. He quickly tried to turn away from them, hacking weakly into his mask. Once he got through the spell and turned back to them, he tried to talk much lower, so he wouldn’t have to take in as much air. It left him sounding raspy and hoarse. It would have to do. “I’m fine,” he hissed, trying to sound more confident in that than he really felt.

In all honesty, he felt like absolute _crap. _His head was pounding and there was an awful taste in his mouth. He felt thirsty, but like if he had something to drink he would throw it right back up. He felt _freezing, _too. _Why _had they left his blanket back at the house— this blanket wasn’t doing anything for him. He felt ten seconds away from his teeth starting to chatter. The weight on his chest wasn’t going anywhere, either. He felt like he had to sneak every breath, or worry about coughing all over again.

“Are you okay?” Jessica pressed, still fretful. Malcolm didn’t answer right away, and she was quick to rush on. “Do you need anything, sweetheart? I could…get you something to eat— you must be hungry!” He just made a face. “Do you want some water? We have water right here for you!” He opened his eyes again and looked over. Sure enough, there was a little Styrofoam cup of water sitting on the bedside table. He started to perk just a little, before his eyes caught on Dani again and he looked back at her. There was still worry on her face. He found it weird. She wasn’t usually so…_overt_.

After some hesitation, he cracked a smile. “I must…look terrible,” he whispered after a small pause.

At first, Jessica was confused. She started to open her mouth before he realized he wasn’t talking to her. She looked back at Dani, frowning just a little.

Dani wasn’t looking at her, though. She stared at Malcolm for a couple seconds, before the edge of her lips tilted up in the tiniest bit of a smile. “Only a little,” she offered. Jessica looked reproachful for a split second, but then Malcolm was laughing. It wasn’t much, and it was very soft, but he laughed all the same. She turned to her son, looking surprised. Her eyes flickered between the two and she reluctantly decided to keep her mouth shut. She resigned herself to sitting back. Dani tilted her head to the side a bit, pretending to scrutinize him. “I think you could look a _little _worse. So you have that going for you.”

He laughed again. “Oh, good…count my blessings…”

She grinned, taking a step closer. “Gil stepped out to get food, finally. I had to pry him away— now he’ll be _really _mad he missed the wake-up.”

“I’ll just pretend to be asleep when he comes back,” Malcolm sighed. “Problem solved.”

She softened. Only marginally. Her voice was quieter when she asked, “How you feeling?”

He sighed, his smile fading. “Like I got hit by a truck,” he groaned.

She weakened. She stared at him for a couple moments before she grabbed the cup sitting on the table next to him. “Here.” He opened his eyes, blinking a couple times when he saw she put the cup up next to him. She held it right next to his mouth, and without asking, moved the straw so he could easily reach it. He stared at it doubtfully for a couple of moments, before he reluctantly lifted his right hand to move aside the oxygen mask. He accepted the gesture gratefully and started to drink. She held the cup for him as he gulped down a couple mouthfuls, realizing he was a lot thirstier than he’d originally thought.

He was breathless by the time he was through, and he quickly put the mask back on so he could get his wind back. “Thank you,” he gasped out.

Dani just nodded, setting the cup aside and slowly taking a seat on the edge of his bed. A couple moments of silence passed, before she smiled and prompted: “You’ll never guess what Edrisa did at work the other day…”

Malcolm brightened at the possibility of a topic that wasn’t solely about him. That was normal. He settled in to listen without a word, as Dani started to delve into whatever story she had. Jessica wasn’t actually listening; mostly, she was just looking at her son. Realizing that even though the pain and discomfort stayed on his face, his expression was the tiniest bit lighter as he listened. She looked at Dani, too, and the cup that she had previously been holding for her son to drink out of. All her questions and fussing was quieted, for the time being.

For right now, she had nothing to say.

All she had was appreciation, that Dani could give her son the tiniest bit of peace. If only for a couple moments.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

A light touch on his shoulder woke him up. Blearily, Malcolm grimaced, dragging his head towards the touch before he pried his eyes open. It was almost too dark to see, but after a couple seconds he could make out the face that was staring anxiously down at him. Initially, when he didn’t recognize them, he was ready to jerk away or even lash out. But then they were speaking up in a little whisper, barely breathing out the little phrase he’d heard about a million times by now. “Malcolm, I have to get your vitals real quick…”

Vitals…hospital…that was right— he was in the hospital. Not at home…but not anywhere _else, _either.

He closed his eyes again, shifting so that his right arm could poke itself out of the blanket for them. Immediately they set to work getting the blood pressure cuff around it, hooking him up to the machine attached to the wall. He listened to them log into the computer so they could chart whatever numbers were popping up for him. After a couple seconds, he opened his eyes, frowning a little. It was late – or maybe it was _early _– going by how dark the room was (without asking, Jessica had left the bathroom light on, as a makeshift nightlight, which he was grateful for). But usually when the tech came in like this, Jessica was all over them— she had a _log _she wrote all his blood pressures down in, even. She was the epitome of a helicopter parent…so where was she?

The thought was more alarming than he first anticipated. The second it occurred, he was picking his head up and looking around, a certain amount of fear spiking and being enough to wake him up more. But his eyes found her in the dim light of the computer, and the fear was fast to die. She was sitting right where she always did, in the chair beside his bed. Her head was resting on her hand, balanced precariously on the armrest. She was fast asleep, her breathing deep and even. She wasn’t even rousing from the light of the computer. Her notes were resting on her lap, open from the last time she had written something down.

He blinked slowly, beginning to relax.

He looked behind her, to the other hospital bed that had been brought in yesterday. He could see Ainsley there, curled up under the blankets and sleeping just as soundly as their mother. She’d tried to give Jessica the bed earlier, but Jessica wasn’t having any of it. Apparently, Ainsley had just decided to take the bed. Only a couple feet away from her, Gil was asleep too, crammed into the recliner in the corner. He looked smushed and not at all comfortable, but just like the others, he was so fast asleep that none of the light or activity got him waking up.

All three of them were right there. Just like they usually were.

Malcolm smiled to himself, just a little. His chest started to warm.

“Malcolm?” He looked back to see the tech had walked back over to him. They smiled apologetically, but stated, “I need to take your temperature.”

He eyed the thermometer, but opened his mouth regardless, letting them slip it under his tongue.

A couple seconds of silence passed, before it beeped. The tech murmured a small ‘Thank you’ as they withdrew it. They had to narrow their eyes against the dark to see the reading, and when they did, a small frown traced over their face. “102.4…” they murmured, looking at him a little anxiously. He closed his eyes, saying nothing, just trying not to cough. They hesitated before they offered: “I’ll let your nurse know.” Again, he said nothing. He just listened to them exit out of the computer and walk out of the room just as quietly as they’d snuck in.

Only when he heard the door close softly, did he open his eyes again. Staring up blankly into the dimness.

Thinking to himself that he was glad his mother hadn’t been awake to hear that temperature.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_Gil, you’ve given me _everything!

He shifted a little in the chair, too straight-backed, too hard to sit in. His back was hurting.

_I’ve always looked up to you, I’ve always wanted to be just a fraction of who you were…_

He clenched and unclenched his hands in his lap. Looked at the clock.

_…and I know I was awful and I gave you all your gray hairs…_

It had only been two minutes since he’d _last _looked at it. He closed his eyes and held back a sigh.

_…but you’re the reason I ever became anything— you and Jackie!_

He looked back at Malcolm. The kid was still asleep, his chest rising and falling in shallow rasps. He looked even paler, today, somehow. He looked even _smaller_, too. _God, _he looked small. He looked as small as the day he’d first met him, looking down with a pleasant smile at the little boy whose stare seemed to hold in it a lifetime’s worth of foreboding.

_You had no reason to take me in but you _did_, and you’ve done so much for me…_

All Gil felt was the same exact thing he’d felt for him back then— all he wanted to do was scoop him up and hold him in his arms and take him far away from here. Except _now_, he didn’t know where that _somewhere _could be. He wanted to take him someplace else. Some_time _else. Back to when they’d gone to crime scenes together and he could watch him think with that knowing little grin on his face. Back when they used to laugh and tease and he would silently glow with pride every time he uncovered something big, which was always. Back when his kid was okay. Back when none of this had happened. Back when he could _walk, _even. Just…sometime else. _Any_ time…other than right now.

_…and you took care of me and I loved her so much, Gil, and I love _you _so much, too! _

His eyes were burning. He was trying not to let them, but he’d failed. Now, he was trying not to _notice, _but he couldn’t block it out. His vision was gradually smearing. His throat was getting thicker; it was harder to swallow. The longer he stared at Malcolm the worse it got, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He tensed when he felt a tear run down the side of his face. He quickly wiped it away, but there was another there to replace it, when he did. Frustration was a rock in the pit of his stomach, but it was nothing compared to the thousand-pound weight of sorrow that was slung over his shoulders.

_I love you, Gil, I love you so _much_, and I never said it because I was too afraid…_

That _damn _recording. It played over and over in his head. Relentless. Horrible. He’d memorized what Malcolm had said, by now. It was ghost, ever-present in his mind. He’d memorized how terrified he had looked, staring at the camera and down the barrel of a gun. Thinking to himself that he had only a couple minutes to get out everything he wanted to say. And _Gil _had been one of the things. _He _had occurred to Malcolm, in that moment. He had occurred to Malcolm, and every word that he’d said to him was imprinted— permanent, like scars that had been burned into place.

_…because I didn’t think I deserved you— it’s too late now, I wish I could have told you before…_

Gil cringed, ducking his head and holding his face in his hands. He felt tears warm against his palms. He choked back swallow after thick swallow, thinking to himself that he had to calm down and take deep, even breaths, or the whole thing would crumble away from him. For now, he was grateful for the fact that Jessica had stepped out to speak with the nurses and left him the only one in the room. He had to get his bearings. Somehow.

_…but for what it’s worth now, I love you, I love you so much…_

If he could just get those damn _words out of his head— _

He heard a tiny noise. A sharper inhale.

Immediately, Gil was picking his head up, finding a way to inconspicuously wipe away the last of the tears on his face before he righted himself. He sat up and looked at the bed, his heart catching when he realized that Malcolm’s eyes were open. They looked plenty foggy. The expression on his face was disoriented as he stared up at the ceiling. His oxygen mask continued to fog with every slow, arduous breath. For a moment, they were stuck like that. Before Malcolm’s eyes slid to the side and he realized Gil was sitting there for the first time.

Malcolm’s eyes flashed. He blinked, very slowly. Before a thin, weary smile traced its way over his face. Lighting up his dull eyes just slightly— somehow, in a way that just made it seem even sadder. His voice was small and rasping. But it was filled with pleasant happiness when he whispered: “Hey.”

_…you were my dad for much longer than Martin Whitly _ever _was, you—!_

Gil stared at him, speechless. His eyes watered even more. His throat felt like something was stuck in it. Somehow, by some miracle, he got out a just-as-weak: “Hey…kid…” Malcolm’s smile grew, at the endearment, but it was fast to start to fade, and be replaced once more with exhaustion. He looked like he’d just finished running a marathon. Gil’s heart was tugging and tearing over and over, ripping itself apart in a slow and torturous way. He softened, with sympathy and affection, when he murmured: “You look like hell.”

Malcolm’s mouth twitched upward again, just briefly. His lips barely moved when he replied: “I feel like it…” Gil softened even more, scooting a little closer to the bed’s side. Malcolm turned away from him; Gil tried to brace himself for what he knew was coming, but it still ripped his heart clean in two when Malcolm broke down into a small coughs. Every single fit like this, seemed to grow weaker and weaker. It sounded like there was so much in his lungs he needed to cough up, and yet he just wasn’t strong enough to get any of it out. By the time he was done, it wasn’t even because he sounded better. It was more like he got too tired to continue and just gave up.

He was shakier when he dragged his head back center on his pillow. He flinched deeply. His lips began to shake a little, and Gil’s hands clenched tighter when, forehead creasing with a certain kind of desperation, Malcolm rasped: “C’n I…h’ve an’ther blanket…?” The fan in the corner of the room was aimed directly at him. All he had was a thin sheet, and the nurse had slipped about five ice packs underneath it. One under each arm, one under each knee, one underneath the small of his back. He had to be freezing. But that was the point.

It felt like Gil was swallowing glass when he forced himself to speak. “The nurses said you needed to stay like this, for a while. To try and get your temperature down.” Malcolm cringed, like he was fighting the urge to wail aloud. He looked down at himself, his teeth chattering even more. But he didn’t fight. He just grabbed the sheet with his good hand and tucked it tighter around himself, trying to make do with what he was allowed to have. The sight was absolutely pitiful. Gil didn’t know which one he wanted to do more: hug Malcolm tightly in his arms, or storm out to find Winston and kill him on the spot. What he ended up doing was neither of them. But his voice was saturated with sorrow when he murmured: “I’m sorry, kid…”

Malcolm didn’t say anything to that. Maybe because there just _wasn’t_ anything to say to it.

For a heartbeat there was nothing but silence. Gil stared at Malcolm, the mournful look on his face growing more apparent since he knew he wasn’t looking. He glanced down at his hands and swallowed hard again. After a couple more seconds, though, he picked his head back up, a certain lighter kind of look coming over his face. “Hey…Bright…” Malcolm’s eyes stayed closed but he murmured out a tiny ‘hmm?’ to show he was listening. Gil’s expression was going soft with affection. “Do you remember what Jackie used to always do, when one of you was sick?”

It took him a second. But then he was opening his eyes again, that little smile tugging back over his lips. “She used to…always bring…homemade soup…” he whispered. Gil’s heart ripped again, this time with a much more wistful kind of hurt. “And…special hot tea…she always…added honey…to it…” Malcolm’s breaths were a little ragged between each clump of words. Gil nodded slowly, remembering all the times she had insisted they go to the Whitly house to drop off everything. Remembering how many times she’d made _him_ the same exact things, when _he_ was sick.

Laughter hid in his voice when he recalled, “You should have seen her the first time— I think it was you that mentioned Ainsley was sick. She was _flying _around the kitchen, throwing _everything _together…we sent you home with about three different bowls.”

He closed his eyes, laughing just a little under his breath. He shook his head a fraction. “Mom didn’t even let me give it to her…” he whispered. “She was always so mad…ridiculous…” There was nothing but affection in his voice, despite the remark. The two fell quiet, the air filling with silent reminiscing. Gil’s eyes flickered up to Malcolm, and his chest twisted in pain when he saw the look that was on his face. How his smile was so weak but strong at the same time. His eyes were shimmering, in the harsh fluorescent light of the hospital room. His smile had to be seen through the plastic of the oxygen mask he was wearing.

Gradually, Gil’s smile grew sadder and sadder, before his expression broke altogether. His smile faded and his eyes started to well with water all over again. His voice was choked and strangled when he spoke next. It left nothing to the imagination; Malcolm was immediately looking over at him, surprised and confused. Though the two emotions were fast to be reconciled and understanding was quick to replace them when he spoke. “She loved you…” he croaked. Malcolm blinked a few times, his own smile beginning to fade. Gil’s voice got even more strangled. “She loved you _so_ much, Malcolm…she always thought of you like a son.” He smiled, but there was nothing but pain and heartache in his grin. “You and Ainsley…you were the lights of her life. Truly. You made her so happy…”

Malcolm tried to smile, too. It was just as pained as Gil’s was. “She made us happy, too…” Gil smiled and nodded a couple times. Malcolm’s smile grew flimsier. “I wish— she was still here...” He was barely able to hear this sentiment. His voice was so fragile and quiet it was a miracle Gil understood. But he did. And the second it registered, it was putting the final nail in the coffin.

Gil’s expression broke and crumbled into pieces. He nodded, feeling tears rush down his face when his smile left. He ducked his head, forcing a quick, sharp breath down his throat. “Yeah…yeah, I wish she was, too, kid…” Every syllable shook, right along with his hands. Malcolm’s smile was gone now, too. He stared tearfully at Gil, trying his best to breathe despite the fact that his throat was thickening up. “She would be sitting right here, with me,” Gil promised, his voice low.

Malcolm softened, sorrow and affection alike on his face when he wheezed, “I know…”

Gil felt all his thoughts and words bottle themselves at the back of his throat. He closed his eyes again and took in a deep, shivering breath. When he opened them, he found his arm acting on its own accord. He reached out and gingerly brushed aside Malcolm’s bangs, so they weren’t hanging in his face. He did so slowly, and hesitantly, but to his relief, Malcolm didn’t shrug him off. He still didn’t move when Gil let his hand slide down and rest on the side of his neck. He couldn’t hold him around the back of it like he usually did, but this would have to be close enough. His chest felt like it was on fire, and it only grew hotter when he saw Malcolm smile again. That weak, barely-there but bursting smile…

He blurted it out before he could stop himself. “I’m sorry, kid.” Malcolm opened his mouth to say something; he was shaking his head and cutting him off before he could. He ducked his head, so he wouldn’t have to face him when he did. But he sobbed it out anyway, unable to put up any kind of filter anymore. “I _am, _I’m— I’m so sorry, I’m sorry for all of it, I— I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…” His shoulders were beginning to shake. He could feel himself losing grip on the situation. Some part of him was trying to get himself to stop, to recollect himself, and yet he knew it was a lost cause.

“Gil…” Malcolm reached up slowly, to grab onto his wrist. “It’s not…your fault…you—”

“You could have died!” he exclaimed. Malcolm’s eyes widened a little— he stopped short. Gil looked up at him and the look he wore, and his heart broke all over again. Sobs started to break through his words as he looked at him, because he knew he was right. He had come so close to losing his kid— the little boy he’d practically helped _raise. _Had taken on stakeouts, had thrown birthday parties for, had watched walk across the stage at graduation and had felt just as much pride as he would have as if he was his own. He’d almost _lost _him. _Forever. _He could have been just another body found on the ground, but by some miracle, he wasn’t. He was _here. _But _still, _it was hard to believe.

“You could have died!” It was an obvious fact, but at the same time, it was a fact that hadn’t been stated yet— not out loud. Not by him. And the fact that it finally was, now, was getting him to break down. Getting him to cry louder— harder. He couldn’t see Malcolm through his tears, which, by now, was a good thing, he knew. He didn’t _want _to see him. Not when he was losing control like this. “You could have shown up like any of the other victims— just a— _body _on the ground, waiting to be found! That could have been _you! _We could have _lost you— I _could have lost you!” He started crying even harder. “I could have lost you!” he repeated. “I could have lost you and then what was I supposed to do!?”

Malcolm was shell-shocked, staring at him. He tried to reply. “But…you…_didn’t…”_

But he _could have. _He came _so _close. Hell— he could _still lose him. Right now. _He could lose him to this illness— _still _thanks to Winston. He ducked his head and shook it slowly, from side to side. When he looked back up, his vision was clearer. He could see the stricken way Malcolm was looking at him. He knew he had to stop, but he couldn’t. His chest was still on fire, his eyes were still streaming with tears. He looked at his kid and he felt his heart breaking— shattering, in thousands of little pieces. “I _can’t_ lose you,” he rasped eventually. Malcolm’s eyes widened just a little bit more; Gil only shook his head again. “I can’t lose you, too, Bright— I can’t go through that again, I _cannot…_lose you, too…”

Malcolm’s mouth opened like he wanted to object. But nothing came out.

Gil’s lips trembled. He held tighter to his neck and shook his head, bending just a little closer. “Please…” he begged, not knowing exactly who he was begging right now. _“Please…_don’t make me lose you…”

He was still holding onto his wrist. With this, he squeezed just the tiniest bit tighter. It was most likely all he could manage right then. Malcolm had to cough again to get his voice clear enough to speak. “I’m…not going anywhere…” he wheezed. Gil’s eyes flashed bright with pain, but Malcolm just tried to smile at him. “I still…have to bother you…s’more…” He tried to laugh, but it just broke off into coughing again. Gil watched helplessly as he struggled through it. Once he finally got to the end, his eyes bright with pain centered deep in his throat, Malcolm pressed a weak: “I’m not going anywhere…you’d get off too easy…”

It took a second for Gil to smile. For him to crack a small burst of laughter. It was weak and small, but it was there. His smile was watery and tears still rushed down his face as he chuckled. He adjusted his hold so he could squeeze his shoulder just a little. Malcolm grinned right back at him, and it was his smile that _almost_ pushed him over the edge. _Almost_ shoved him right over his breaking point.

It was that smile that almost got him to break. To say it.

Those three words _begging_ to be voiced, finally.

This _entire_ time, he’d wanted to say it— to say it _back_ to him.

Malcolm’s smile almost got him to.

_Almost._

“I—” It started to slip out. The beginning was there— the two other words were clamoring to be let out right along with it. His tongue started to curl upwards to form that ‘l’ sound…but at the last second he couldn’t do it. Looking at Malcolm, who was staring at him expectantly now, for whatever it was he was about to say…he lost his nerve. Again. Again, the declaration was left to die before it could get all the way out. Gil snapped his mouth closed and looked at him dismally for a couple of seconds, before he took in a slow breath, and instead, backtracked. “I’m worried about you, kid,” he said instead, every word dull and quiet. When he looked up, Malcolm’s smile was gone. His words tasted bitter on his tongue when he pressed a weary: “You make me worry about you.”

“I know,” Malcolm whispered, taking in a gulping breath to be able to get out words in the first place. Despite the difficulty, his eyes were soft with amusement. “I gave you all your gray hairs,” he joked. Completely oblivious.

Gil’s stomach heaved. It took everything in him to keep that smile on his face. It took everything in him to murmur out a weak: “Yeah…yeah you have…”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

His eyes were closed. He looked asleep.

Ainsley knew he wasn’t.

_“Hey,” _she stressed. He didn’t react, and, swallowing back a nervous twinge, she reached out and put her hand on top of his wrist, squeezing just a little. This made him rouse— only enough to drag his head to the side. His eyes still stayed closed. Pain creased over her expression— she didn’t try to hide it. But she at least kept her voice clear of it when she spoke, pushing herself to speak louder, in case it might help. “I know I’m boring, Mal, but c’mon— you’re being awfully rude.”

He smiled a little. It was quick to fade.

Ainsley felt someone staring; she looked up to see her mother’s eyes flickering between the two of them, her expression holding within it all the anxiety in the world. Her hands were clasped tightly at her chest. When their eyes met, her mother’s apprehension only tripled. Ainsley wilted. For a long couple of heartbeats, they just stared at each other. Not having to say anything.

She took in a quick breath before she looked back at her brother and forced another smile on her face. “Hey— _Mal,” _she tried again. “Mal, look at me, I have something important to tell you.” But he didn’t. She deflated when his eyes stayed closed. She could hear his breathing from where she was— how thin and rasping and labored it was. She looked at their mother again and saw her own fear and sorrow and pain reflected back at her. It was like looking in a mirror.

She opened her mouth to say something, when she felt her phone go off in her pocket. She closed her eyes, biting back on her frustration and despair. She wormed it out, looking at the ID and fighting the urge to throw it against the wall like she knew her mother probably would. She just stood up, her expression heavy as she cast one last look at her brother, still out of it. Jessica looked at her carefully for a moment; Ainsley braced herself for a lecture. But all she did was walk up and take her place. She sat down on the edge of Malcolm’s bed where Ainsley had been, reaching out to fix her son’s hair gently.

Ainsley hesitated, but the buzzing in her hand demanded to be answered. She held back a sigh as she turned and headed out of the room. She heard her mother’s voice fade away behind her as she continued to try and talk to him. “Malcolm, darling…baby, open your eyes— for just _one _second, sweetheart…are in pain? Honey…?”

Ainsley shut the door behind her and lingered in the hallway for a couple of moments. By the time she finally answered the call, she was fairly sure it was on its last ring. She raised it to her ear and paused for one more moment before she gave in. “Hello,” she murmured, glancing up and watching a nurse walk past her, as though she was scared of being overheard. 

“Ainsley!” She closed her eyes, hunching her shoulders a little as she ducked her head. “You were supposed to call me an hour ago! I’m not blaming you, of course, I know you must be awfully _busy, _but need I remind you, I’m quite literally at your mercy here? What do you expect me to do?”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been a little _preoccupied.” _The last word came out sharp.

“How is he?” She was a little surprised, at the tone shift. Usually, he waited at least a minute to get to that part— he always pretended to be invested in her, at first, asking her how work was or what was happening in her life. _Then, _he would get to Malcolm. Not this time. _This _time, Martin Whitly was jumping right to him. She supposed that was a testament to how bad it had gotten. “How is he coming along— _is _he coming along? Certainly the antibiotics would have kicked in by now and—”

“He’s not any better,” she interjected, her voice dull. She stared a hole into the wall across from her, her heart heavy in her chest. She could feel the disappointment and worry on the other line. Or…maybe she didn’t. Maybe that was just her, projecting. She had to keep her wits about her. “He’s sleeping more and more. He doesn’t wake up when you talk to him.” Her arm was crossed over her chest; she dug her fingers hard into her other arm— a nervous habit. A new one, she’d developed through all of this. “He was immunocompromised to begin with, the doctor—”

“Who _is_ his doctor?” he cut in, his voice still that too-flat, too-serious.

She had to stop and think of the name. “Doctor Caldwell.”

A couple moments of silence before: “I don’t know him— _how_ do I not know him?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed, glancing back over into Malcolm’s room.

“He must be a _resident.” _He said the title like it was the equivalent to garbage. “Or if he’s not a resident, he’s fresh _out_ of residency— listen to me, Ains,” she stiffened at the name, “you need to ask for Doctor _Wilkerson_. He’s _very excellent _at what he does— he’ll do a _much _better job than Doctor Caldy—”

“_Caldwell_,” she corrected.

“Semantics,” he dismissed. “Whatever his name is, fire him and ask for _Wilkerson_. He’ll take care of him— he’ll provide _much _better care than any resident could give.” There was another small pause, before he asked in a slightly lower, more reluctant voice. “Has he…asked about me yet?”

She sighed again, closing her eyes. “No,” she snapped thinly. “He _hasn’t. _He hasn’t asked about _anyone— _he’s _sick. _And I want to get back to him, so if you’re _done_, then—”

“Ainsley, _please!” _She stopped short with surprise, when he suddenly yelled this out. It sounded much more desperate. Enough so that it was dropping her guard. A couple moments of silence passed before he spoke, his voice softer, yet harder, too, at the same time. _“Please.” _There was a stiffness to the plea that got Ainsley tucking her arm even closer to herself. “I _need…_to hear about my son. _Please. Do not hang up the phone, Ainsley. Tell me. About my boy.”_

She bit down on her lower lip, staring anxiously ahead, burning a hole through the wall.

Agonizing over what to do.

Until eventually, she rasped a small: “Okay.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Malcolm had been sleeping for ages. Jessica was holding her son’s hand in hers, a horrible pit open in her stomach when she felt how hot he was. His temperature had climbed to 103 this morning. He’d been given Tylenol after Tylenol, he’d been covered with ice packs, yet _still, _the fever refused to break. The fan was turned on high and the thermostat turned low. Her job was to watch over him and monitor for shivering. If he started shivering, she was supposed to call the nurse. She was taking the job very seriously; she was hardly even blinking as she studied him. It wasn’t like there was anything else to do. Everyone else had gone to work. She was alone, with him.

A couple of times, she’d started to stroke back and forth along the back of his hand, almost hopeful that she would wake him up because of it. But no— he was fast asleep, and he was staying that way. She was heartbroken, just sitting and waiting. Watching him breathe so shallowly, and hearing every single strained breath, which sounded even louder in the silence. For the longest time, that was the only noise. It was a difficult noise to listen to, but at least it was something steady. She quickly grew used to it.

So when it changed, she recognized something was wrong immediately.

At first, it was just a change in his breathing— something small, but something that was making her snap back to attention at once. His breathing began to hitch and stutter. At first, she thought it was because he needed to cough again. But when his exhales grew heavier too, and his expression started to change, she realized that wasn’t what it was at all. He wasn’t about to start coughing…he was about to start _crying._

The second she realized it, she was on her feet and bending low over him. “Malcolm?” He was flinching, his exhales getting heavier and heavier, morphing quickly into sobs. His head was turning from side to side, his eyes squeezing shut tighter. “Malcolm!” She reached down to hold his face in her hands, drawing her thumbs along his cheeks, trying to get him aware again. Trying to wake him up out of his nightmare. “Baby, open your eyes!” Her heart broke when she heard him start whimpering and choking. His right arm started to twitch upwards, like he wanted to throw her off. She hated it but leaned even closer, putting more pressure behind her caresses. “Malcolm, wake up! Darling, it’s a nightmare! You—!”

She broke off when his eyes opened all of a sudden. A strangled gasp died in the back of his throat, stuttering out into a terrified burst of coughing. He flailed for a moment before he grabbed hard onto her wrist. His grip wasn’t nearly as strong as it was supposed to be, but she could tell it would be iron-clad if he only had the capacity for it. At first, she was relieved, thinking that was all he needed to be able to calm down. But it wasn’t. The second his eyes opened, they were shutting again, and he was beginning to cry harder— louder. He choked and wheezed between every sob, coughs threatening every single inhale and exhale. He needed to stop— to take a _breath. _

“Malcolm listen to me, you—!”

“Please…!” She snapped her mouth shut when he started to speak, as best he could between his hitching gasps and quick coughs out. His eyes were closed again; he kept his grip on her, but his head fell to the side. “Pl- ease!” Worried, Jessica reached out and put her hand on his forehead. Her stomach dropped when she felt how hot he still was. Did he even realize he was awake? Did he know what was going on? “I’m so hungry…please just do it, _please_…!” His beg trailed off as started coughing instead.

She frowned, doing a double-take. “You’re…you’re hungry?” she asked. “Malcolm, are you awake? Can you hear me? I can get you something to—”

“Please…!” he wailed. Jessica wilted, confusion making her body and mind alike freeze. She had no idea what was going on— she had no idea what he was talking about, or why he was so upset. Why was he crying? What was he meaning? “I’m _asking _you…please…please just get it over with, please…plea—!” He started coughing again, sobs puncturing every other one. 

She brushed his hair back, struggling to collect herself and figure out what in the world was happening. She was completely blank, in her confusion and worry. “Malcolm. _Malcolm!” _She put force behind her words, worrying about coming off as too harsh but having no other idea on what to do. She smoothed her fingers over his forehead, over and over to hopefully get him out of his stupor. He just kept crying and coughing pathetically. She was so desperate she blurted out something that seemed to work for Gil, back when he was upset at the dentist’s. “Bright!” she tried, grimacing a little when he tried to get her off. She leaned a little closer, pained beyond measure as she kept trying. “Bright! _Bright_, open your eyes!”

He didn’t. But he _did _start to calm down. His heavy, panicked breathing stuttered and slowed. His grip on her wrist slowly relaxed, too, and his head fell all the way to the side. His arm fell back to the mattress, and his coughing faded. She tried to stop him, but there was no use— before she knew it, he was falling right back asleep. Less than a minute after she used his last name, her son was passing out again and that silence was coming back to swallow up the room. Her hands lingered where they were— one resting against his cheek, the other laid across his burning forehead. She stared at him with huge, perplexed eyes, trying to put pieces of a puzzle together when she didn’t know the image they made at the end.

_I’m so hungry, please just do it?_

_Get it over with?_

She thought of how Malcolm used to always break down and cry when she tried to get him to eat. How, without fail, all he would do was cry: _I’m not hungry enough yet. _

She’d wondered about it for weeks upon weeks. But for the first time in a _while_, that question was coming back to her…this time, much more foreboding and wary than all the other times she’d thought it.

Hungry enough for _what?_

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The very second Gil was knocking on the door of Malcolm’s hospital room, it was opening. He was surprised— usually Jessica didn’t want to so much as _look _away from her son, let alone get up and get the door. Usually he was just given a faint: ‘Come in,’ and whenever he walked in and she realized who it was, the disappointment on her face was always palpable. It was a cycle that never failed to live up to its reputation. So when, not a second after his first knock, the door was flying open and Jessica was on the other side, Gil’s eyes were rounding out with surprise and confusion.

His first impulse was that something was wrong. He opened his mouth to ask, leaning over a bit to try and look beyond her, to where Malcolm was. But before he had the chance to look at him, Jessica was grabbing his wrist and pulling him away from the room. Whatever he was about to say changed into a noise of surprise as he stumbled after her. Jessica just muttered: “Come on.” She didn’t even bother closing her son’s door. Gil looked over his shoulder, watching it recede behind them. He looked back front just in time to see Jessica open the door to the kitchen and pull him inside. She shut the door behind them and turned to fix him with a steely look.

Gil was so lost, he didn’t even try to say anything. He just stood there, baffled and confused, waiting for whatever it was she had to say. The kitchen was just a tiny little room with a fridge, a sink, a microwave, a coffee pot, and an ice machine. He’d only been here in a couple times before, always just to make another pot of coffee— something that would hopefully help keep his eyes open. He certainly had no idea why Jessica was pulling him in here, though. He knew there wasn’t use in asking, though. He just waited, knowing it was coming.

And come it eventually did. Jessica’s arms were crossed tightly over her chest. Her eyes were blazing and when he spoke, her voice was practically vibrating with anger. Or…maybe it _wasn’t _anger…but it was something very close. He was so caught up by trying to figure out whatever it was, he almost forgot to listen to what she actually said. Thankfully, he shook himself back into attention in time. “…know something,” she was snapping, her eyes narrowing as she looked him up and down. Still feeling absolutely blank with stupidity over what was currently happening, Gil continued to just stare at her. Her hands balled into fists. “I _know _you know something,” she repeated, even sharper than before. Gil blinked rapidly, staying silent. She took in a slow, slightly shaking breath, before she pressed in a much lower voice: “I need to know.”

“You need to know _what?”_ he asked, dumbfounded. “What are you talking about? Is Malcolm okay?”

_“Malcolm…_is who I’m _talking _about,” she said, speaking through clenched teeth. Gil’s expression faltered. So did hers. For a couple heartbeats, her enraged look decayed into a look that was much heavier, and much more sorrowful. She glanced at the floor, pausing for a long moment before she picked her head up and forced herself to speak. All the anger had rushed out of her voice, too. Now, she just sounded tired. Exhausted. At the end of her rope. “You…watched those videos…” Already, Gil’s blood was running cold. A horrible feeling was crawling to life underneath his skin. It only got worse when she continued. “And…at the dentist’s…you _knew why _I upset him…and I didn’t…” She hesitated one last time. Her voice was choked when she said: “I need you to tell me what you saw.”

“I…” His eyes widened. “_No_, Jessica,” he rasped. “I can’t, that’s not…my _place, _I shouldn’t have even _watched _them in the first place, I—”

“Earlier he woke up from a nightmare crying telling me to ‘Get it over with’ because he was hungry.” Gil stopped short immediately, his stomach dropping about fifty feet. She saw the look on his face— she saw the color drain away from it, and she recognized what it meant. She recognized the fact that it meant he knew exactly what it was she was trying to understand. Again, came that jealousy— that horrible, _wrong _kind of jealousy that he knew what was wrong with her son. _All she wanted _was to make her son better, to make him _happier— _she was so tired of not being in the know, of being in the dark.

“Gil,” she rasped. “I _have_ to know what happened.”

“You don’t,” he rivaled, just as quietly. “You _don’t, _Jessica. _Trust me.” _

“_How_ am I expected to do that?” she snapped. “I _need_ to know.”

“Jessica, that is _exactly_ what I thought before I saw them,” he said, looking squarely into her eyes, in the hopes it would get her to understand. “I _thought_ I needed to know, I _thought_ it would somehow make things better, but it _didn’t. _Those videos _keep me up at night. _I haven’t slept a full night since I watched them. They— they _haunt _me, they’re _horrible. _To see what all Malcolm went through—”

“I don’t need to know _all of it, _I need to know _some of it,” _she pressed. “I _need _to, Gil.” She took a step closer, crossing her arms even tighter. “I need to know why my son wakes up screaming— I need to know why he flinches when I do certain things, I need to know why he woke up begging me to do _something _so he could eat, when before, all he used to say was that he wasn’t hungry _enough!” _Tears were welling up in her eyes, making them shine much too brightly. It took everything inside of Gil not to look away. “I _need to know what that man did to my baby,” _she whispered, every word of hers thick, and shaking like a leaf. “I _need you to tell me what he did to him.”_

“I…I _can’t_…Jessica…” His own voice was clogged with unshed tears. “I _can’t_...”

“You _can,” _she countered. “You just don’t _want _to.”

_“No, _I mean…I _can’t…_say_ it,” _he croaked. His eyes were beginning to prick and burn. Jessica blinked, straightening with a bit of surprise. Gil choked back a swallow and shook his head before he ducked it low. “It’s…I can’t _say _it…Jessica…” he forced out. Her eyes widened and her face fell. Gil reached up, rubbing his forehead. He let out a shaking sigh, closing his eyes in a tight grimace. The room was so quiet they could hear the hum of the lights overhead. He felt like he was going to be sick. He struggled to force out even more. “I _can’t…_be the one to tell you,” he choked. “I can’t be the one to tell you…because I already know you blame me for it…”

She faltered, her mouth dropping open a little. She started to try and interject, but he was moving on before she could. “And you have a _right to, _I know it was my fault he was on the case— it was _my _fault I couldn’t _find him fast enough— _I know _everything_ that happened on those DVDs is on me. I know you blame me for it, because _I_ blame myself to!” He was trying to keep back his tears, but he was quickly losing the battle. He shook his head, defeated and ashamed. “I _can’t_ say it…not to _you_, Jessica…”

“You _have_ to,” she forced out stiffly. “Tell me what he did to him.” Her voice shook with feeling.

He stared at her despairingly. Another long stretch of silence passed. Before he whispered out: “You already know…Jessica…”

“No I _don’t_,” she objected. “I need you to tell me.”

He shook his head, looking drained and heartbroken. “Yes…you do…” he breathed. “You _know.”_

_“No, _I—” She frowned, wilting slowly. She thought of how quickly Malcolm had resorted to panicking and sobbing at first whenever she tried to get him to eat— how he always reverted to repeating himself over and over. He used to never speak so much as a syllable, except he _always _was able to say he ‘wasn’t hungry enough yet.’ She thought of how sometimes when she touched him on accident without him realizing it first, he would get that uncomfortable look on his face and shrug her off. She thought of how he’d started crying at the dentist, specifically when she asked him to open his mouth. “I…I _don’t_…know…”

She thought of the uncomfortable look he always wore whenever he needed her help to change clothes— that was why he could go two, three days without changing. She thought of how sometimes in his sleep he would start crying and screaming ‘Stop!’ out of nowhere. How heartbroken but resigned he’d looked when he’d cried and told her to get whatever it was over with because he was hungry. _Because he was hungry…_she remembered what JT had told him in order to get him to eat that one time, what felt like so long ago.

_You don’t have to do anything for it. He’s not here._

“No, it’s…” Her eyes slowly widened. The pit opened up again in the bottom of her stomach. She felt sick— like she was going to be ill. Gil just stared at her sorrowfully, his silence a horrible kind of confirming. She reached up to clap a hand over her mouth. She remembered before her son was aware again, that every single touch had him flinching or screaming away like it had burned him. Her lips started to shake, and her eyes quickly began to tear up. She remembered how he had just looked at her when she asked why it was he didn’t want to eat. How sick he had looked. How he had tried to explain once, but had just let the effort die before it could really become one.

“He…no…” She staggered. Gil quickly dove forward and grabbed her, holding her tightly in his arms to make sure she wouldn’t fall. He expected her to push him off, but she didn’t. In fact, she clung back to him, as if she knew herself that she wouldn’t be able to stand upright by herself. Her expression was dazed, but at the same time it was quickly becoming overwhelmed with sorrow and rage and every emotion in between the two. “Not…” She blinked, and a tear traced down the side of her face. Her eyebrows knitted together as she looked up at him. She was speechless for a couple moments, before she managed to stutter out a weak: “He…_please_ tell me…he didn’t…”

Gil looked crushed. He could barely get out: “I’m so sorry, Jess…”

She cringed, her breath catching in her chest. She covered her mouth with her hand and stumbled again. Gil was there to steady her just like he had been before. Again, she didn’t acknowledge his support. But this time, she started crying— a low, keening wail that was ripped out of her lungs against her will. “No…_no, he— not to my baby, he— not my son!”_ she cried. He grimaced, tears rushing down his face as horrible guilt clenched hard around his throat. But he forced himself to stay together for the most part— to be there for her and help support her as best he could.

Knowing it was the very least he could do.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She didn’t start singing consciously. She just…_started_.

She’d been sitting at her son’s bedside, combing gently through his hair as he slept. He hadn’t woken up, just like she knew he wouldn’t. He was fast asleep…and for once, she was grateful for that. She’d been relieved he wouldn’t see her crying. Because she couldn’t stop. Sitting beside him, combing his hair back with a feather-light touch, she had looked at her son and cried with the knowledge she had now. The fear and suspicion that she had had for ages now, slowly growing over time, had finally been confirmed. She still felt absolutely sick.

She’d started carding through his hair and from there, she had started to sing. Softly, and slowly, like she always used to do when he was baby and she was trying to soothe him to sleep. She hadn’t sung this song or even _thought_ about it in _years_, and yet she found herself recalling all the words as though she had. Her voice was barely above a murmur. But all the same, she sang to him the same song she used to sing when he could fit in her arms, warm, safe, and protected. Everything she wished he could be now.

_“The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping…I dreamt I held you in my arms…but when I woke, dear, I was mistaken…so I hung my head, and cried…” _She tilted her head, carefully brushing her son’s hair back and tucking it behind his ears, trying to avoid his oxygen mask with a heavy heart. _“You are my sunshine…my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you…so please don’t take my sunshine away…” _She let her hand trail down, the back of her fingers brushing soothingly up and down his cheek. _“I’ll always love you, and make you happy, if you will only stay the same. But if you leave me and love another, you’ll regret it all someday._

_“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you…so please don’t take my sunshine away.” _Malcolm started to rouse just a little, his head shifting on the pillow slowly. She paused, giving him a moment to wake up and waiting to see if he would react poorly to her touch. His eyes cracked open, though, and nothing happened. He still looked half-asleep. Her heart tugged when she went back to brushing his bangs. She sang just the tiniest bit louder, so he might hear better.

_“You told me once, dear, you really loved me…and no one could come between. But now you’ve left me, to love another. You have shattered all of my dreams.” _His eyes slid closed again. He let out a shivering sigh, relaxing a little bit more. Underneath his oxygen mask, his lips twitched into a little smile. She blinked a couple times, feeling a fresh sting in her eyes. Her voice hitched just the tiniest bit. She hoped he didn’t notice. _“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you…so please don’t take my sunshine away._

_“In all my dreams, you seem to leave me. When I wake, my poor heart pains.” _Her voice was definitely thicker, now. She sniffed a little, as she smoothed his hair back. _“So won’t you come back, and make me happy…I’ll forgive, dear, I’ll take all the blame.” _She shifted, moving her other hand to draw the blankets up more around him like she knew he would want them. He smiled again. _“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray.” _She smiled, a painful, watery smile. She leaned down closer to him. _“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you…so please don’t take my sunshine away…”_

She leaned down, pressing her lips to his forehead and letting them linger there. Feeling her stomach and her heart twist into knots when she felt his skin burn hot against her. When she opened her eyes again, her vision was smeared. She drew her fingers through his hair one last time, murmuring against the scar on his forehead he had put there himself: _“So please don’t take…my sunshine away…” _Only then did she draw back, her heart and her eyes heavy when she realized Malcolm was fully awake now, his eyes half-lidded as they tracked her.

His smile lingered. There was nothing but happiness in his expression. His voice, tiny and hoarse, was filled with just as much happiness when he whispered: “I l’ve you.”

She smiled, tears rushing to ruin her vision entirely as she whispered back: “I love you, too…_so _much.” His smile grew a fraction. His eyes closed again. She swallowed back the lump in her throat and asked, “Do you need anything, my love? Anything at all?”

But he just grinned sleepily. “N’…” he murmured. “’m happy…righ’ here…”

Tears rushed down her face when she smiled. “Alright.” Her voice was just a small croak, but he didn’t seem to notice. She brushed away as much of her tears as she could, before she went back to running her fingers through his hair like she had before, immediately being rewarded with yet another tiny grin from him. He was perfectly content to lay there and feel her gentle touch. He had been starved of touches like this for so long…it was perfect, for him right this second. Nestled in a bed with his mother’s voice in his ear. It tore her heart apart but made her unbelievably happy at the same time.

She resigned herself to sitting there for however long he needed her to. Continuing to hum under her breath for him. Because that was what he wanted.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“Watch!”_ He didn’t want to. He tried to look away again. And again, his effort was rewarded the same way: with a heavy-handed punch directly into his face. Blood was gushing out of his mouth already, from his teeth cutting through his lips. He was thrown with the force and hit the ground with a pathetic whimper, just like he had with every punch before. Not a second after he hit the floor, he was being yanked up again by the back of his shirt. He was thrown back against the wall with another hefty thud. The laptop was shoved back into his face. He cringed away from it, but Winston just screamed louder. “I said _watch it, Whitly!”

_The air was filled with the sound of Amelia Hull’s screaming. The eight-year-old had been recorded, just like he was currently. And now he was being forced to watch it. If his eyes so much as darted away, Winston was punching him, or kicking him. He was already beaten and bloody already, and the video had just started. Listening to her sobbing wails was too much in itself; the actual _video_ was vomit-inducing. He felt like he was going to be sick. _

_“Watch it,” Winston snarled, forcing it even closer to his face. Malcolm flinched, his stomach heaving as Amelia let out another bloodcurdling screech of pain and fear. The instant his eyes were closing, Winston was punching him again. This time, he grabbed his chin and wrenched it front, holding it there so that there was no other option _but _to look. Malcolm bit down hard on the inside of his cheek as he was forced to focus on the screen. Winston smirked at the only-growing distress on Malcolm’s face. “C’mon, Whitly— it hasn’t even gotten to the _good part _yet.” He paused for a heartbeat before he leaned a little closer and snarled: “Unless you want me to go out there and drag your sister all the way over here so I can show you everything I did to Amelia _that _way, then you’ll _watch the video.”

_Malcolm cringed, rage and fear alike on his face as he looked back at the video. Tears rushed to fill his eyes and run down his face. Each one of her screams was like salt in a gaping wound, as she cried out for help. “Mommy!” she screamed, Malcolm’s expression crumbling as he started to heave and sob. “Mommy! Mommy!” Winston refused to let go of his chin. When Malcolm’s eyes closed, he just shook him until he opened them again. He was stuck watching the little girl he had failed to save, be tortured. He started to cry, every single one of his sobs seeming to match Amelia Hull’s, the both of their screaming echoing in the empty factory._

Ainsley’s heart was heavy in her chest as she watched her mother and Gil from across the room. Her mother was currently holding her brother’s face in her hands, murmuring gently to him. “Darling…shhh, darling, you’re alright…wake up, darling— _please…” _Gil was holding his good hand in both of his, running his hand back and forth over the back of Malcolm’s in the effort to wake him up, too. Malcolm wasn’t reacting to either of them, though. His head was twitching from side to side in barely-there increments, tiny, almost-inaudible whimpers and sobs leaking out from around the oxygen mask he wore. He was crying in his sleep. Again. But this time, he was taking longer to wake up.

“He won’t— …_sweetheart please, you— _he won’t wake up, Gil,” Jessica broke off, bubbling over with frustration and sorrow and fear alike. Tears were beginning to rush down her face. When she saw, Ainsley had to tear her eyes away. She curled up instead, sitting in the recliner with her knees drawn to her chest. She buried her head away. The last thing she saw before she did, was Jessica turning towards Gil with a desperate, sorrowful look, as if Gil could do anything for her. But it didn’t matter that she wasn’t looking at her anymore. She could _hear _the desolation in her mother’s voice when she spoke next. Her voice empty and filled with horror at the same time, somehow as she continued to choke out, “He won’t wake up, Gil— _he won’t wake up…!”_

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“…come all…way…”

His forehead creased a little. His head shifted on the pillow.

“…lose…”

His eyes struggled to pry themselves open. To see who was talking.

At first, all the colors were too blurry to make out. But then they settled.

He saw yellow. Spots of brown. Eventually he got it— the long hair, the tired smile.

Ainsley. He was looking at Ainsley.

She smiled, when she saw his eyes flash. The smile was sad. He _knew_ it was sad. Why was it sad?

She repeated herself. This time he caught the whole thing.

“You didn’t come all this way to lose to this, Mal.” Her voice seemed to echo weirdly.

He blinked slowly. Then he smiled. Just a fraction. His eyes closed again.

He thought she said something else, but he didn’t catch it. It was too far gone again.

He wished he could breathe.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“He’s asleep.” Jessica’s voice was exhausted. It would make anyone tired just by hearing it. Dani’s heart was twisting on itself as she looked at Malcolm— even paler and sicker than he’d looked the last time she’d seen him. Sure enough, he was sound asleep, his chest barely rising and falling. Every time he breathed out, it fogged up the mask— that was mainly the only reason she knew he was breathing in the first place. “But you can still sit by him, if you want,” his mother breathed. “Just be quiet, please…last night he had nightmares. He didn’t get much sleep.”

She just nodded a couple of times. Too tense to do anything else.

For a moment or two, they just stood there together in silence.

Thankfully, to her relief, eventually Jessica closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead, ducking her head a little. “Alright— if you’re going to…sit with him for a moment, I’ll just step out very briefly— are you alright?” She looked concerned— like she was actually worried of what would happen if Dani said no. But she nodded quickly, and relief was fast to come over her face, instead. She nodded, rubbing her eyes and sighing again before she said, “Alright, then. I’ll be right back. Please— …if something happens, please call the nurse. But I should be back soon.”

Dani nodded again. From there, Jessica turned and, throwing one last look over her shoulder at her son, she left the room. The small click of the door closing sounded magnified in the silence that she left behind. Dani looked after her for a couple moments before she turned back to Malcolm, the heaviness settling back over her face when she did. The silence was earsplitting. She could hear him wheezing with every breath, in it. She wanted to break it, but she wasn’t sure what to say. She gnawed on her lower lip, looking down at her hands which were wringing in front of her.

It took her ages, but eventually she started closer to him. Slowly, she dragged the chair at his bedside just a little bit closer before she sat down. She looked at him mournfully, feeling awkward and at a loss of what to do. His mother’s warning stayed rooted in the back of her mind; she didn’t want to wake him up…but at the same time, that was _all _she wanted to do. She went back and forth, debating. Eventually, she tried her luck. “Bright?” He didn’t react. _“…Bright?”_ Nothing— not even a bat of an eye. Her shoulders drooped. She looked back down at her hands, her eyebrows knitting together a little.

She was silent for a long stretch. Before she picked her head back up and murmured: “Bright…you’ve gotta get better…” He still didn’t respond in any way. She cringed, thinking back to that night again— the night she had unknowingly left him to get kidnapped, and tortured. The night she blamed herself for ultimately subjecting him to all that horror. Looking at him now – thin and weak and sick and unresponsive – she felt nothing but white-hot guilt, latching a chokehold around her throat. She should have been there for him. She should have helped him. She should have _known. _This was all _her fault._

She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt a tear escape and run down the side of her face. She stiffened, quickly swiping it away as if by doing that she would make it have not existed in the first place. She sniffed, quickly sitting upright and shaking herself. She looked at him despairingly, like she was asking him what she should do. He didn’t have any answers— she knew he didn’t. But he _usually _did. So she stared at him regardless. Waiting for something that would never come.

After a couple seconds, she cracked a smile. It was tiny and worn— it held inside of it nothing but sorrow, bottomless and yawning. But she smiled all the same, and there was just the tiniest bit of cynical laughter bubbling underneath her voice when she croaked, yet another tear falling down the side of her face: “You still owe me a dinner.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“I can’t do it,” she rasped. Gil said nothing, but Jessica knew he was listening. She kept her voice low, so she wouldn’t wake up Ainsley, who was asleep in the extra hospital bed behind them. “I can’t do it…I _can’t _lose him now…” Gil risked a glance over at her, immediately regretting it when he did, and he was forced to see the unending amount of sorrow on her face. She looked at her son as though she was already picturing him lying in a coffin— with mourning and regret so deep the pit had no ending. All there was, was bleak blackness. Her voice was just as empty when she continued, not so much as blinking away from Malcolm. “I can’t lose him now. Not after everything…”

Gil’s heart ached when he looked back at Malcolm. The kid was fast asleep. He was breathing irregular and shallow. Despite his mother’s voice close to his ear, he didn’t rouse, just like he hardly ever did anymore. When he _did _rouse, it didn’t seem like he was all the way there. Somehow, that was even more painful than if he just stayed asleep— seeing him out of it and fighting for air. The nurse had mentioned the ‘very real’ possibility of intubation sometime soon; they were watching his oxygen levels closely, and continuously. He had no idea what they were waiting for…he almost would _rather _have Malcolm breathing through a tube again, than hear his horrible breathing for one more second.

“I just got him back, Gil…” Jessica whispered, dragging his attention back to the present. He looked at her and again, was disarmed by just how empty she seemed. Her eyes were filled with tears. One blink, and they would start rushing down her cheeks. Maybe that was _why _she was staring so intently. “I can’t lose him…not to this…not now,” she breathed. Her lips quivered. When she spoke next, her voice was quieter and angrier. More of a snarl as she choked out, “My child has been through _enough…_he _deserves _to recover…he _deserves _to _rest…” _The anger faltered, and that sorrow came back. Her lips shook even more violently when she croaked: “He deserves to feel safe, and loved, and _happy…”_

“I know,” Gil rasped after a small pause. She looked at him. He expected to see loathing in her stare— a sense of blame, like she usually had. But there was none of that, anymore. All there was, was sadness. He hesitated, before he reached out and slowly put his hand on top of hers, giving her ample time to pull away if that was what she wanted. But she didn’t— she stayed still, and she let him squeeze her hand gently, trying to offer her any bit of comfort he possibly could. “I know, Jessica…” he repeated, weaker.

She searched his face like she was looking for an answer, there. Eventually, she managed to speak again, though it was nothing more than a rasp. “I can’t lose him, Gil,” she reiterated. “What am I supposed to _do _if I lose him?”

“You won’t.” He found himself replying before he even knew what he was going to say. She wilted, but he just shook his head, resolute. “You won’t lose him— _we _will not lose Malcolm. Because he’s a _fighter.” _He softened just a little, when he added: “You raised a fighter, Jessica.” Her expression crumbled with doubt and insecurity. He held her hand even tighter. “He’s not going to back down from this. He’s _stronger_ than that. And you know it.”

She looked from Gil to her son, doubt still lingering in the far reaches of her gaze. But after a couple moments, she cracked a tiny smile. Her voice was a little steadier when she replied. “Yes…he is…” Her eyes flashed and her smile faded. She looked down at the ground. “I…started to give up on him once,” she murmured. Gil remembered all the pamphlets about funeral homes and coffins and tombstones he’d seen splayed across her table what felt like lifetimes ago. A cold rock settled in his stomach. Jessica looked as though she was experiencing the same thing. Her voice was more strained when she said: “Maybe I just need to have faith in him, this time…”

“I think that’s a good way of looking at it,” Gil returned.

She nodded a couple of times to herself. She looked at her son again, and a bit of her certainty seemed to crumble away. A tear slid down the side of her cheek and she was fast to brush it away, clearing her throat and ducking her head as she started to stand. “I’m— going to step out for a moment,” she said thickly, taking her hand away from Gil’s. He hadn’t even realized he’d still been holding it. A flash of regret came over his face, but he didn’t say anything as she started for the door. “I’ll be right back.” Gil just nodded. Like she always did, she cast a look back over her shoulder at Malcolm before she left the room. A couple of seconds, and Gil was left alone with him, Ainsley still fast asleep in the other corner.

The silence was deafening. He stared at the door for a long while, before he looked down at Malcolm. His chest tugged in sharp pain when he had to look at him again. The expression he wore – stoic and steady, for Jessica – quickly crumbled in her absence. He deflated, his shoulders drooping and the light going out of his eyes. All the certainty he’d shown for her was gone. All the confidence that the kid would pull through…it had been crafted. It had been artificial. Fake. As strong as cardboard.

He _didn’t _know if Malcolm could come back from this— not when he was so far gone already. His immune system had been so weak…they had just been glad to have him up and aware again. They’d taken him _out, _for _dental surgery. _They hadn’t been thinking past that day, past all their relief. They should have taken it slower, they should have taken it more seriously, and now what did they have to show for it? He was so sick…so weak, already, but progressively getting worse every single day. What were they supposed to do? Sit by and watch him wither away? It felt like that was _all _they could do. And yet Jessica was right…Gil couldn’t handle losing him. Not now. Not when he’d finally gotten his kid back.

He scooted his chair closer to the bed— so close that his knees were flush against it. He leaned forward, resting on his arms as he looked down at Malcolm. He already felt it…the stinging in his eyes. The burning in his chest that ached to be let out. He let out a slow sigh, rubbing his forehead and cringing, as if by shutting his eyes tightly, the tears might soak themselves away somehow. It didn’t work— it only made them worse. When he opened his eyes again, his vision was just smears of Malcolm’s pale skin, of his oxygen mask, of his hospital gown. He felt his lips start to shake.

When he took in a breath, it was fast and punctured. His voice was choked when he began to whisper— words that barely made their way out of his mouth in the first place, let alone to Malcolm. But it wasn’t like he was going to answer anyway. “Hey, kid…” he croaked, every word already shaking like a leaf. He tried to clear his throat to make it better, but there was no use and he knew it. “You, uh…you have to get better…okay? You’re not— …you _can’t _go out like this…you understand?” His lips trembled violently. He leaned even closer, trying to hold himself together as best he could.

“You fought…like _hell, _to get here, Bright,” he reminded lowly. “You fought like hell for a _year _to get here— don’t be giving up now. _Don’t _give up now, not on us— not on _yourself.” _He looked at him despairingly. He knew all he would get was silence, and yet somehow it made everything even worse. He cringed, slowly reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder. He squeezed it, suppressing a shiver when he felt how prominent his bones still were, there.

“…I’m so proud of you,” he cried, the words pushing him over the edge as tears started to rush down his face. He moved to press his hand against his cheek. “I’m so proud of you for coming this far— for _making _it this far, when I couldn’t help you…you just have to make it a _little_ bit farther, kid…and I know you can do that. Don’t leave us— don’t abandon us. _Please…_you _gotta _keep fighting…and I know you’re tired,” he added in a voice that was even more choked. “I know you’re tired of fighting, Bright, but you _need _to keep going. For your mom— for Ainsley…for me…”

He stared down at him, his throat on fire and tears streaming down his face. He sniffed, when he reached up to card his fingers through his hair like he’d seen Jessica do for him millions of other times. His lips wavered and his foundations continued to crack. He cringed and ducked his head, sobbing silently for a couple of seconds as he hunched over his kid. Without thinking, he leaned down and, brushing his hair back one last time and holding it there, pressed his lips to his forehead in a small kiss. He lingered there for a couple seconds, grimacing like he was in physical pain, before he withdrew, sniffing again.

The three words finally left his mouth. Tumbled out, on their own accord.

“I love you,” he sobbed quietly. “I love you so much, kid…”

He sat there and cried to himself, trying to keep quiet because of Ainsley. Because of Malcolm, too. Yet despite their volume, every cry ached with sorrow and regret. Regret that he didn’t find him sooner. Regret that they had let it get this bad. Regret that he waited this long to tell him. He wished he’d told him sooner. When he was holding him in his arms, restraining him from throwing his head back against the siderail of the bed. When he was smiling and laughing at something he had said. When he was staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to stutter something out.

_Any _time other than now, was when he should have said it.

Now, it was too late.

He hung his head and cried, holding Malcolm’s limp hand in both of his.

Until eventually, Malcolm’s hand twitched.

At first, he thought it was just a mistake, or him having a dream. But then, slowly, Malcolm’s fingers shifted and curled down, to hang onto Gil the same way he was holding onto him. Gil stiffened and looked up, blinking fast to clear the tears from his eyes. His heart was already skipping a beat, but it was freezing entirely when he realized Malcolm’s eyes were open halfway, and he was looking over at him. His breathing was still hitched and strained, but when their eyes met, Gil could tell that there was a difference. That he was actually _aware _this time— _really _aware. He stiffened, his eyes going wide. He forgot everything that had just happened, a smile slapping itself over his face instead.

“Malcolm?” he asked, forgetting to be quiet. From behind him, Ainsley picked her head up off the pillow at the sound of her brother’s name. “Malcolm? Can you hear me?” Gil pressed. Quick as a flash, she was shooting up to her feet and stumbling to her brother’s bedside by Gil. Her eyes were bright and her smile was huge. Malcolm didn’t even look at her though— he was staring blearily yet steadily at Gil. He leaned a little closer to him, tightening his grip on his hand. “Malcolm?” he asked again, worry beginning to seep through his voice. “Are you okay?”

Malcolm stared at him for a couple more seconds, saying nothing.

After those seconds, though, his lips traced up into a small smile. Gil was thankful he was already so close to him— when he spoke, it was near impossible to understand him through the mask, he was so quiet. But he _was _close enough, and the words _did _make sense. They took a second to connect. But there was no mistaking it. And there was no mistaking the happiness in his eyes when Malcolm whispered back to him: “I love you too…”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all like this chapter!! This chapter marks a turning point for this story so I'm super happy to get it out to you guys, and I'm super excited to start working on the next chapter right away, 'cause I have tons more planned for this fic! I hope you're all as excited as I am!  
Thank you guys again for reading and for all your support! I'm such an anxious person with posting my writing so to have such an outpour of love with every update just makes my entire week; you have no idea what it means to me!

_‘Sun’s up…it’s a little after twelve. Make breakfast for myself. Leave the work for someone else.’_

“I’m _up.” _

_‘People say, they say that it’s just a phase. They tell me to act my age. Well I am!’ _

“Ainsley, I’m _awake.”_

She made it worse, somehow. Instead of turning off the playlist, she just turned it _up, _and started jumping where she was standing beside his bed, beginning to sing along instead. Very _loudly_. _“On this perfect day! Nothing’s standin’ in my way! On this perfect day! Where nothing can go wrong!” _Malcolm tried to eye her, but it was difficult when she was currently spinning around and tossing her hair in too-dramatic gestures that were probably supposed to be dance moves. She shook her shoulders and pointed at him, continuing to sing despite the look he was giving her. _“It’s the perfect day! Tomorrow’s gonna come too soon!” _She hopped from one foot to the other, shimmying and smirking when Malcolm cracked a tiny smile. _“I could stay forever as I am! On this perfect da—!” _

“Ainsley what in the world are you doing!?” She jerked, stumbling to a halt and whirling around at the question. She quickly rushed to turn the music off, her eyes wide as she realized that along with her mother standing in the doorway, the nurse was there too, trying not to smile. Jessica looked cross and embarrassed as she fixed her daughter with a look that for some reason had an uncanny relation to the look that Malcolm had tried giving her not half a minute ago.

“I was, uh…” She gestured to Malcolm vaguely. “I was waking him up,” she ended up landing on.

Jessica’s look only got sharper. “Could you have done it a little _quieter?”_

“Not when _that _song started playing,” Ainsley rivaled innocently enough.

The nurse skirted past them as they started to bicker back and forth. She’d lost the battle on smiling as she walked to his bedside, and her voice was pleasant when she started to speak. “Hi, Malcolm— I’m Alyssa, I’ll be your nurse for today. You were asleep when we did our morning rounds.” He dragged his eyes away from his family to her, and he nodded a little. She tilted her head to the side, getting her stethoscope from around her neck and putting it in her ears. “I’m gonna take a listen to your lungs…how are you feeling this morning? Scale of one to ten, one being you can’t breathe at all, ten being just fine?”

“Uh…eight,” he rasped, clearing his throat a little.

The nurse smiled. “That’s good!” She glanced over her shoulder at his mother and his sister, both having devolved into some obscure argument. Malcolm followed her gaze, listening in as well.

“I think I have _great _music taste,” Ainsley was defending herself, clearly unbothered.

“It’s absolutely _horrid, _I don’t even know _what that song was,” _Jessica snapped.

“_That’s_ just a character flaw,” she rivaled.

“Whatever happened to those piano lessons I signed you up for? _That _is music.”

“Oddly enough being forced into piano for years on end makes you kind of hate it.”

Alyssa turned back, her eyes soft with amusement. “You’re lucky to have such good company,” she teased, her voice light-hearted.

Malcolm’s eyes stayed on his family, though, softening more and more. He smiled, warmth and affection on his face and in his voice when he murmured back: “I know.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“It’ll be stiff for a while— all healing fractures are,” he said. “The important thing is that you keep trying to work with it. The degree of muscle wasting is especially extensive, so don’t rush it. You have to build back up to where you were before and that’s just going to take time and work, alright?” The doctor smiled at Malcolm, but he was looking down at his arm. He had no idea what he had _expected_ it to look like underneath the cast, but it certainly was living up to the rest of him: it looked like a complete mess.

There was even _less _muscle on this arm than on his right one; he hadn’t even thought that was possible. The skin was ghost-white and dry. Some of the skin was flaking off but what was really drawing his attention were the scars left behind from surgery. Ainsley had mentioned it before— how many times he’d had to go in for surgery on his arm to debride the necrotic tissue, but he didn’t know the exact number. He certainly hadn’t been aware enough to keep track. He could see the remnants of it, there. Like a road map to read of injuries long past.

But. At least the cast was off. _That_ was what he had to focus on.

Gil was grinning from ear to ear. Anyone else might be fooled that _he _was the one finally getting this cast off, not Malcolm. “How’s it feel, kid?” he prompted, when Malcolm stayed silent.

“It’s…” His eyebrows knitted a little as he slowly tried to curl his fingers down into a fist. They wouldn’t go nearly as fast as he wanted them to, and he found himself wincing at a strange pulling sensation throughout his entire arm. He only got them about halfway-clawed before he stopped. His expression stayed pinched; his voice was more worn when he finished his thought. “It’s not…really…all the way back…”

Gil barely had time to start deflating, before the doctor was stepping in to reassure him. “Function will come back gradually— you’ll have plenty of physical therapy to get it back into working condition.” He was staying awfully bright. Malcolm wondered if he did that to everyone, or if it was just these worse scenarios that he put in the extra effort. “And I’m going to give you a brace to wear, too— just to help sort of tide you over as you work to get back to the original range of motion. You can wear it when you sleep and if it ever begins to hurt too much, or if your hand starts to get into that claw position, then it’ll help there, too. And we can go over the brace in more detail…”

Malcolm wasn’t listening. He was too preoccupied staring down at his arm, grimacing and trying to make a full fist— trying to turn it this way and that and feeling that tugging sensation stop him whenever he did. Feeling that almost-there feeling of functionality, so close and yet so far at the same time.

Once again feeling a weird mixture of relief and disappointment.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“You look like an absolute _mess.” _

“Thank you. For the lovely compliment.”

Malcolm made a face, closing one eye in a grimace as Jessica kept fussing with his hair. At this point it was so knotted, he was close to just signing the whole thing off and shaving it all. At least that way he might be able to avoid things like this: fifteen straight minutes of his mother tugging and teasing it, ignoring his snaps at her to quit it. Though in her defense, he hadn’t so much as told her to stop as he did throw her irritated looks or huffs. None of them phased her at all; she just kept going, muttering to herself the entire time. He let her, though, for the most part.

It was too familiar to tell her to stop.

Despite the way he was reacting, some part of himself was warm with affection that only grew with every one of her grumbles or snaps to ‘Hold still, you’re making this difficult.’ 

Ainsley was perched on the extra hospital bed, working on something intently on her laptop. At this exchange, she glanced up and smirked. Malcolm caught her eye and softened a little— he couldn’t help himself. This made her smirk even more, as she threw him a look. He smirked right back. Jessica was oblivious, continuing to tease her fingers through his hair. “Your hair is a _rat’s nest, _I can’t believe I let it get this bad in the first place, you—”

Her speech was broken through by a soft knock at the door. She pulled away, a little caught off-guard. Malcolm was surprised, too, looking towards the noise. It left Ainsley with the job of calling them inside. “Come in!” Jessica drew away from Malcolm and straightened, thinking at first it was going to be the doctor. But it wasn’t. Instead, her eyes lit up and a certain kind of smile came over her face when she recognized who it was.

_“Dani!”_ she exclaimed, watching the girl smile a little awkwardly at her name. Malcolm’s eyes widened, unable to see the door from his bed. He looked down at himself, looking floored and at a loss of what to do. Ainsley caught the glance, and she picked up on the flash of anxiety that came over his face. She found herself smirking again and quickly had to duck behind her laptop, to make sure nobody else would see. “Oh, Dani, come in, come in!” Jessica encouraged, sounding over the moon. “It’s so good to see you again! Malcolm, look— it’s _Dani!”_

Malcolm smiled just as awkwardly when Dani entered the room and finally came into his line of vision. “I can see that,” he breathed, reaching up without thinking to try and quell the mess that was his hair. For some reason, he was positive with all his mother’s fussing, it look even worse than it had at the start. Dani cracked a bigger smile, and it just made him even more awkward. He tried to smile despite it, forcing himself to put his arm down. “Hi, Dani.”

She smiled wider when she returned, “Hey, Bright.” For a moment, they just stayed staring at each other, smiling and saying nothing. Thankfully, she remembered herself and turned away, breaking eye contact and taking a little bit of the weight on Malcolm’s shoulders off. Though he wasn’t sure why the weight had been there in the first place. “Hello, Mrs. Whitly— Ainsley,” she said.

Jessica beamed at her like she was heaven sent. Ainsley glanced at her mom but quickly had to duck behind her laptop again. The blonde didn’t hide the laughter in her voice very well when she sang back: _“Hello_, Dani.” Malcolm shot her a glare. Ainsley caught his look and doubled over all the way, biting on her lip to keep herself from snickering. He looked back front, meeting Dani’s awkward look with his own apologetic one. His family really was the absolute worst family on the planet. He’d wish nobody the torture of having to be with them for more than thirty consecutive seconds.

Or maybe they weren’t.

After a couple long seconds of tense silence, Ainsley straightened up and got the message. She closed her laptop with an abrupt slam and piped up very pointedly. “Mom, I need your help with something.” Jessica’s smile dropped; she turned and looked at her in confusion and slight disappointment, but she was already hopping up to her feet and heading for the door. Everyone looked after her, confused. She just dipped her head to the side, urging her to follow her outside. “C’mon, I have to ask you it out here.” Malcolm fixed her with a dull ‘Really?’ kind of look, but she just smiled more and beckoned her mother again.

Jessica seemed disheartened, looking between her son and Dani with clear regret. But she caved and shook her head, looking irritable as she headed after Ainsley. Dani and Malcolm were left in the room alone, after Ainsley shut the door behind them. The awkwardness was _very_ quick to come back, once that door clicked closed. Malcolm was in the middle of asking the universe why it had it out for him so bad, when Dani broke through his train of thought. “Well, _that_ was very subtle.”

He turned back, his stomach flipping; but there was nothing but humor on her expression when he did. It was contagious— he grinned too, though it was mostly in relief. “Nobody in my family understands what the word ‘subtle’ means. Usually Ainsley _is _the subtle one, so.”

Dani laughed, and his smile grew. After a beat of hesitation, she started over to him to take the chair by his bedside like she usually did. This would make it three days in a row she’d come to visit him. Which meant he really shouldn’t be surprised at this point when she walked through the door, and yet he was. Just like he was surprised when she’d first implied they were friends. It was difficult for him to wrap his mind around— that she would be worried about him, or actively want to see him.

He cleared his throat, trying to get some of his thoughts out. All that ended up coming out, though, was a slightly modified version. “You must have nothing to do, coming here all the time.” _Good one, that was a really good one, have I ever told you how great you are at communication? Idiot._

But Dani just smirked a little. “Well, nothing was on TV,” she joked back.

He smiled, a little bit _more _of that weight being taken off of him. “How is everyone?” he asked.

She blew out a sigh, leaning back a little. “Oh, you know. Same old.” It clearly wasn’t enough for him; she kept going. “Edrisa is _always_ asking about you…I think she wants to come visit, but just isn’t brave enough.” His smile softened. He’d seen Edrisa the least— he missed her comments and her jokes, or the nervous laugh or trailing off that always seemed to accompany everything she said. “Gil is always on the phone with Jessica, it feels like, when he’s actually in the office.” His smile faded, to be replaced with a more apologetic look. She was fast to shake her head and dismiss whatever fears were growing there. “It’s fine— it’s really sweet, actually,” she teased.

This got him burning with self-consciousness. He was fast to change topics. “And JT?”

She shrugged. “You know JT.”

His smile lingered for a heartbeat. Before it gradually faded. He pursed his lips a little when he looked down at the blankets. Dani frowned, picking up on this change. He was quiet for a couple heartbeats, before he asked in more of a mumble, not picking his head up: “Is he…still watching the…?” He meant to finish, but he just couldn’t. He knew he didn’t have to, though; she knew what he was referring to.

Sure enough, her smile was nowhere to be found anymore. She glanced down at her hands, clasped in her lap, and thought for a couple seconds. Malcolm glanced at her, wondering whether or not she was debating whether or not to lie to him. When it came to things like this, that was usually what people were indecisive over— whether or not they should actually tell him what he wanted to know. Which…wasn’t fair. He hadn’t asked a _lot _of questions…not yet. He _deserved _to, but he didn’t. Maybe because some part of him still couldn’t handle filling the gaps of his memory.

Whatever the reason, it wasn’t easy to know he was at the mercy of the people around him for information…and those people didn’t want to give him what he was looking for.

But he should have known Dani would be different. She looked back up and nodded a couple times. “Yeah, he’s…still looking through all the evidence. He’s almost done with it, though.”

Malcolm nodded slowly a couple of times, a certain heaviness in the pit of his stomach. He was almost done…so that meant he’d seen almost everything. It was a double-edged sword, in that way. Malcolm had no idea what was even on a _fraction_ of those videos— his memory was so warped and fragmented, he hardly remembered anything. For once, he was grateful for that. At least for right now. Right _now_, he wasn’t ready to know what had happened to him, and he understood that. That would be something to tackle later. Much later.

He got sidetracked, staring off to the side. Dani wilted, when she realized his mind was wandering elsewhere. She knew that when he got to thinking like that, it hardly ever ended up somewhere good. She leaned forward, opening her mouth and starting to look for something she could say to reel him back in, when the job was suddenly done for her. There was another knock at the door that got them both perking and looking in its direction. At first, they both thought it was Ainsley and Jessica coming back already (which was a good guess— Malcolm knew Ainsley could only stall for so long when it came to their mother). But the call that closely accompanied the knock told them otherwise.

“Room service!” The same moment they called this, a hospital worker was shouldering their way inside with a tray of food. “Malcolm Bright?” Malcolm forced a smile and nodded. Dani watched as they set the tray down on the bedside table, moving it without being asked so that it was positioned directly in front of him. She raised her eyebrows when she saw what all was on the tray— a bowl of soup and a cut of salmon, turkey and rice, a cup of pudding, a milkshake, a salad, a small plate of rolls, and a plate of mashed potatoes. it was like he’d ordered the entire menu. And yet when the worker left and shut the door behind them, he made no move at all to so much as pick at it. She could see the discomfort and distaste on his face, too, as he surveyed it.

She frowned a little. “Did you order all that?” she asked.

His distaste about doubled. “My mother did,” he sighed, still not moving for it. He shrugged a shoulder. “She’s been…weird about me eating, lately. I just told her she could order something to make her happy— you should have seen her reaction, it was like I gave her a lottery ticket.” He sounded more than just a little exasperated. It got Dani smiling just a little bit again. Malcolm wasn’t smiling at all, though. He looked at the food like it was a pile of garbage. He muttered under his breath: “I didn’t realize she ordered _everything_ there was to order…”

She looked from him to the array of food. She hesitated, but eventually tried to hedge, “You should try and eat some of it.” He glanced at her, looking sick at the mere thought. She tilted her head to the side and met his stare with her steady one. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but you _do _have to eat at some point…” He made a face, looking away again. She frowned. “You don’t have to eat all of it,” she encouraged. “Just a little bit at a time would be enough to at least gain a _little _weight back.”

“Yeah…” The way he said this made it clear he wasn’t swayed.

She sat there for a moment, looking between him and the food, waiting for him to make a move for _something _on the tray. He didn’t. She looked back down at her hands, thinking, before it hit her and she looked back up. She cleared her throat. When he looked at her, she raised her eyebrows expectantly. “Hey.” He looked confused. “You owe me a dinner,” she declared. At first, he stayed blank. She had to press a little. “That night I took you home?” She skirted around the other details. The fact that she’d left him there. The fact that he very well might have been taken right when he walked through the door. She skipped over that quickly, so he might not have the chance to think of that either. “You told me next time we ate together, you’d eat more.” She nudged the tray a little closer, raising her eyebrows again. “You owe me a dinner,” she repeated. “And I want that dinner to be right now.”

He blinked a couple times, recognition slowly leaking back to him. He looked from her, to the food, his mouth hanging a little open. At first, she was worried he’d started to go down that path anyway, and she’d just made a mistake. But when he spoke, it wasn’t about any of that. He didn’t sound upset— not in _that_ way. The closest he sounded was indignant, that she would spin it on him like this. “You…you don’t have any food,” he objected after a second. This time it was _her _turn to give him a ‘Really?’ look. But it didn’t do much when it came to deterring him. “It’s not dinner if you don’t have food either, is it?”

She shot him a sly look, shaking her head. She scooted closer, reaching out and plucking up one of the many bowls— it turned out to have fruit in it. She took the lid off and popped a grape into her mouth. Malcolm watched her warily as she chewed. She looked pointedly between him and the rest of the food. “I’m eating,” she said, after she swallowed. His shoulders slouched, the way a kid’s might when they found out their lie wasn’t being bought by their parents. “So _you_ eat, too. This is our dinner— you promised me it.”

He smiled— a tired, small little grin. “Dani…it’s not—”

“You don’t want to have dinner with me?” she asked. He faltered a little, looking at the food again. She felt bad when she saw the discomfort still there. She put the bowl back down, shaking her head. “It’s fine, Bright,” she said. He looked at her doubtfully; she just smiled back at him. “You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to…you _should. _But I don’t want to be the one to make you.” She knew it was difficult for him to separate things. And she knew you could lead a horse to water, but you couldn’t make it drink.

He blanked, looking torn. Eventually, he looked at the bowl that was closest to him— the one that had the chicken noodle soup. He bit down on his lower lip and agonized, very well aware of the fact Dani was staring at him intently. He reached up with his good hand and wormed the lid off of it. Just as slowly, he grabbed the spoon. Dani perked. She watched as he scooped up a small bite, taking one more moment to rethink it, before he put the spoon in his mouth. He looked sick when he did, but he swallowed it anyway, taking the first bite with the smallest of winces.

She watched him carefully, a thoughtful frown on her face. He took another bite with just as much difficulty. He stared off into space once he got that swallow down, too. Before she could stop herself, Dani was speaking up, her voice a small murmur. “Is it really that hard?” Not judging, or patronizing. Just genuinely concerned.

Malcolm must have anticipated her making a judgement. He looked at her like he was expecting her to be looking at him with all the condescension in the world. He did a tiny double-take when he realized that wasn’t what was waiting for him. When their eyes met and he saw nothing but kind worry on her face, he blinked rapidly, his guard falling. He was quiet for a couple seconds, before he replied, his voice quiet and subdued. “Yeah…” he rasped, his eyes flashing. “Yeah, it…really is.”

She searched his face, wilting. When she spoke, her voice matched his. “I’m sorry, Bright…”

He tried to smile— it was pained. “It’s not your fault,” he returned quietly.

Her eyes flashed and her stomach twisted. _I wouldn’t be too sure about that, _she thought to herself, but she wisely kept her mouth shut. Instead, she just reached out and picked out a piece of cantaloupe from the fruit bowl. Malcolm watched her, before he looked back at his soup and got himself to take another bite. They ate in silence, before Dani started to catch onto the fact he was growing more and more uncomfortable. At first, she thought it was just because he was eating. But she felt his gaze flicker to her more than just a couple of times. He never said anything, so eventually she had no choice but to ask.

“You okay, Bright?” He stopped short, staring down at his soup with that same tense look. Like something was wrong. She hoped he would meet her gaze. But he didn’t. “Bright? What’s wrong?”

“It’s…stupid,” he said slowly. Still not looking at her.

She was quick to rival: “It’s not stupid if it bothers you.”

He hesitated for a couple more seconds, before he took in a slow breath and started to struggle to get it out. “It’s…just…” He sighed, redirecting his focus on the soup again. This time, she let him look away. She knew it was easier on him if he did. “It’s just that…I didn’t…think this dinner would be…like _this_.” He looked at himself as he said this, his stomach twisting. He looked at his hospital gown, at the IV in his arm, at how thin he was, at the bed he was stuck in…his expression said all that he couldn’t.

Dani got the message loud and clear. She stared at him for a couple moments, thinking. Before she announced in a clear, unbothered voice: “I did.”

He blinked, looking up with confusion. “You…” His eyebrows knitted. “You _did?” _

“Sure,” she said. “It’s you. Me. We have food. We’re sitting together…” His confusion started to ebb. She tilted her head, smiling at him. “Did you have something different in mind?”

He stared dubiously at her at first. But then he cracked a small smile. “No…” he murmured eventually. “I…I guess not…”

Her smile grew in size. Her chest felt warmer when she said, “Then let’s eat.”

He grinned. He even stifled a small laugh, when he looked back down and got another bite.

Dani’s smile stayed on her face when she took another bite, too.

They both settled down to eat. Talking between bites, of which Dani was grateful Malcolm took. Enjoying one another’s company.

Finally having that dinner they’d promised each other so long ago.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_It was almost six in the morning. 5:45— the kind of time where it seemed like the world was in a limbo of awake and asleep, the sun not up yet but people starting to drag themselves out of their beds and into actual function again. As for Gil, he was exhausted by now. He was always exhausted after stakeouts— spending the entire night sitting behind a steering wheel never seemed so tiring to him, before he actually had to do it. At least now he was used to it. And at least now, he had a little bit of company. _

_He sighed, pulling up to the Whitly house and throwing the cruiser into park. He sat for a moment, collecting himself, before he sighed and shrugged the tension out of his shoulders. “Alright, kid,” he exhaled heavily. “Let’s get you insi—” He broke off when he turned and realized that Malcolm wasn’t looking at him. In fact, he wasn’t listening to him at all. The twelve-year-old was slumped against the car door, curled up awkwardly underneath Gil’s coat. He’d given it to him around three in the morning when he’d seen him shivering. Now, he was using it like a blanket, all tucked up underneath it. _

_The kid must have just fallen asleep. It felt like he’d been talking just a second ago. Gil hesitated, looking from him, out the window to his house. Looking back at him, he spoke up, apologetically but loud enough to wake him up. “Hey. Kid.” Malcolm didn’t stir at all. He just kept sleeping, totally out of it. He reached out with a light touch to shake his shoulder a little. “Kid.” Malcolm made a little bit of a face and grumbled under his breath. But all he did was shift so he was curled up more in the seat, away from the door. He didn’t wake up or even so much as open his eyes. _

_Gil was at a loss. He stared at him, thoughtful and strained at the same time. He turned and looked back at the house one more time, wondering if he should wake up Jessica. He had a key to let himself in by now— otherwise he would be waking her up at all hours of the morning returning Malcolm after their many stakeouts. He’d been relieved to not have to knock anymore. But what should he do now? Should he wake her up so she could take him inside? _

_He looked back at Malcolm and, after a couple beats more of hesitation, he eventually shook his head. He got out and shut the door behind him, careful not to close it too loudly. He rounded the car and opened the passenger side door. Malcolm still didn’t wake up, and when Gil reached out cautiously to touch his shoulder again, he stayed just as dead to the world. He didn’t bat an eye; his chest just kept rising and falling peacefully. Kid was so asleep, he wouldn’t be surprised if a gun went off and he wouldn’t even rouse._

_Against himself, Gil softened at the look of him tucked away. For a heartbeat or more he just stood there watching him. But then he was fast to shake his head and clear it, snapping at himself to get moving because it was cold out and the kid had stolen his coat. At first, he was on-edge about how he was supposed to pick him up. Awkwardly, he started to reach out and wind his arms around him in a couple different ways, trying to figure out which way would be the most effective. Eventually he just threw caution to the wind and wormed his arms underneath his tiny frame, curling him up close to his chest and pulling him out of the car. _

_He was heavy, but not _too _heavy. It took a second to adjust but once he did, Gil was able to carry him in his arms without too much difficulty and still keep his coat snug around him. The kid’s head sagged to the side, but it ended up just resting against his chest and stopping there. He gave a little sigh, but that was it. Gil winced a little but when he realized he wasn’t going to wake up, he started for the door. He had to shift him in his arms a little, to be able to get the key out of his pocket and let them inside. From there, he knew how to get to Malcolm’s room._

_The entire house was dead silent. Gil took care to be the same as he shouldered aside the door and crept into the bedroom. Trying not to stumble, he made his way to the bed. He let go of him carefully, setting him down so lightly he might as well be made of glass. Malcolm sank back into his pillows with another little sigh. He turned in his sleep, curling up on his side and snuggling more into the coat. Gil couldn’t help but smile, at the motion. But he really _did _need his coat back. Moving slow, he wiggled it away gradually, until Malcolm let go. _

_He took his coat back and shrugged it on. From there, he grabbed Malcolm’s blankets and tucked them up underneath his chin, making sure he’d be nice and cozy. He was surprised the kid was sleeping this well…Gil knew he usually didn’t. He was grateful he’d gotten him all the way in here without disturbing him. Malcolm deserved some rest. He deserved a good night’s sleep, even if it was after a stakeout. He turned to leave the room, pausing at the door and glancing back at him. _

_But no. He was still asleep. Still peaceful and content._

_He smiled to himself again as he shut the door silently and made his way back outside. _

_Feeling comforted that Malcolm would sleep, and remembering the feeling of his weight in his arms, and his head leaning against his chest._

“Gil.” He jerked, blinking rapidly as he snapped back into attention. Jessica was throwing him a look— not a _horribly _irritated one, but an irritated one regardless, when she apparently found him just staring. But she was uptight in the first place; with coordinating their return home, she’d been busy all morning gathering up their things and making sure everything was together, even going so far as to order in gourmet cookies for the entire floor as their way of saying ‘thank you.’ Currently, she and Ainsley were moving all their bags of items and clothes that had somehow found their way into the hospital room, from the sidewalk to the car. Sweeping past him with that look, she tilted her head towards Malcolm and snapped an airy: “Sometime _today_, Gil.”

He jumped apologetically as he turned to look down at Malcolm, sitting in the wheelchair. The kid looked disheartened and pained. It was bad enough he needed his help getting into the car— it was made even worse when such attention was brought to the fact. “Sorry,” he rushed, Malcolm glancing up at him. “I was just— I don’t know what I was doing,” he ended up landing on. Malcolm raised his eyebrows a little blandly. Gil tore his mind away from all other thought processes and redirected his focus. He walked a couple steps closer, hesitating before he asked, “How do you wanna do this, kid?”

Malcolm sighed, but his voice wasn’t as upset as Gil was anticipating when he returned, “Let’s just do whatever is fastest.” Gil still hesitated, but when Malcolm looked up at him, expectant and waiting, he figured he might as well comply. He stooped down a little, reaching out and gingerly wrapping his arms around Malcolm’s thin frame. Immediately, Malcolm was reaching up and wrapping his arms around the back of Gil’s neck, hanging onto him in preparation for what he knew was going to come. Gil only paused a second more before he grabbed harder hold of him and started to ease him up.

He did so in a way that left Malcolm to stand and help if he could. But he was so light, if he couldn’t manage it, Gil knew it would be fine anyway. Sure enough, when Malcolm tried and failed, trying to get his feet underneath him and only able to stumble and stagger, Gil took the last bit of weight he had so that he could pick him up and quickly pivot to put him into the car. To his relief, Malcolm didn’t fight, when he felt him pick him up the rest of the way. He just held tighter to him, ducking his head so that it was more into his shoulder as he was pulled and then sat back down.

The entire process took less than five seconds. Malcolm was settled into the backseat of the car with a small huff. As Gil drew away, he noticed he was shaking just a little after the small, barely-there effort of trying to walk. He tried not to draw too much attention to it. But he was well aware of the breathless quality to Malcolm’s voice when he breathed an uneven: “Thank you,” to him.

Gil softened, and offered him a small smile, reaching out and placing his hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need to say thanks, kid,” he reassured.

Malcolm seemed unsure at first— it didn’t take a genius to see that he was fighting off a wave of embarrassment. But when he met Gil’s gaze and he saw the warmth that was there, he adopted some of his own and smiled, too. He didn’t say anything, but the grin was enough. It put Gil over the moon, as it was. To see him grin— hell, just to see him _there at all, _was enough for Gil. To see him out here, breathing just fine, awake and aware, going _home. _Just a little over a week ago, he had been starting to try to come to terms with the fact that his kid might not _get_ to go home. So no; nothing could take away the happiness he felt.

Nothing could take away the knowledge that once again, his kid had made it through.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was raining. No, it wasn’t just raining— it was _pouring. _The downpour was torrential and every other minute there was a clap of thunder in the distance, seeming to grow louder with each refrain. That was good. Rain was good. Rain was _fantastic, _even. Ainsley was stiff and on-edge, as she thought this to herself— as she glanced out the window every other second and looked at the storm. They’d been due for a good rain for ages, now. What were the chances it was going to rain like this when they were on their way home from the hospital?

She glanced over at her brother, sitting beside their mother. He was staring off into space the way he often did whenever nobody was talking to him— staring as if he was intent on watching something closely, that nobody else could see. Distracted, and yet _not, _at the same time. She was still studying him when she saw her mom spare the same worried glance his way, checking on him for the tenth time that minute. They caught one another’s gaze and both stopped short, seeing their own worry mirrored back at themselves.

Concern and tension was rife in her mother’s posture and her eyes, and when Ainsley met her stare, they broke though a little bit more. Ainsley’s hands clasped tighter together in her lap, but she tried not to let herself react much further than that. Instead, she tore her gaze away, redirecting it to the window once more, and the rain that was pelting against it. _It’s raining, _she reminded herself, feeling her nerves begin to fray and worry themselves unwound. _It’s raining. Hard. Rain is good. It’s a good thing it’s raining now. That means it’ll be okay. That everything will be fine._

She perked when she realized the car was pulling up to their house. Quickly, forgetting in the moment what she might look like to the others in the car, Ainsley rushed to cram up close to the window and peer through the rain. At her sudden movement, Malcolm blinked a couple times, coming back to reality slowly only to look oddly at his sister, whose nose was practically touching the glass. Not a half a second after, Jessica was leaning out to follow Ainsley’s lead and look outside. Without saying a word, the two were watching tensely as they rolled up to the house. Their hearts in their throats.

But no.

There was nobody outside.

It was raining too hard. Reporters and media usually flocked to their house around this time. Usually there were at least a couple people lingering outside waiting for the slightest bit of information they could glean from the Whitly family. Gil had been there the morning they had taken Malcolm to get his teeth removed— he had managed to threaten them all away pretty easily. Now, he was standing at the doorstep waiting for them, umbrella in hand. He’d driven separately for that very reason— to make sure that those who _did _try to brave the rain would be shooed away before they got there. Apparently between him and the rain, they had somehow managed the feat of clearing the area. It was a relief.

Ainsley and Jessica both smiled at the same time when they saw him waiting. Leaning away from the window, Ainsley caught Malcolm’s eye. He was staring at her oddly, like he wasn’t sure what she was doing or thinking. Ainsley just smiled at him, though, saying nothing. And the second the car was coming to a stop, she was rushing out, not even minding the weather, which was immediately working to soak her. Gil rushed up and offered her temporary shelter as he bent a little to see into the car. “Everyone make it okay?” he asked, having to raise his voice a little against the drumming of the rain.

Jessica was already grabbing up Malcolm’s wheelchair for him to take. “Of course we did,” she replied, though Ainsley was fast to notice there wasn’t any of her usual irritation layering her voice when she spoke. And there wasn’t a glare on her face, either, when she handed over the wheelchair for him to set up outside. Gil took it with a somewhat relieved smile, as if he was noticing the same fact she had. Automatically, he started to unfold the chair so they could get Malcolm out. Malcolm was silent, his expression unreadable as he just watched Gil. He didn’t look upset, but there was something about the way he looked that was putting Ainsley off. She started to frown just a little, as she stared at her older brother.

But she didn’t get the chance to say anything. Before she did, Gil was straightening and smiling, looking at Malcolm and apparently not seeing the same thing she had. “Alright, kid,” he said, lining up the chair so it was next to the car and locking the brakes so it wouldn’t roll off. “Ready when you are.” Malcolm hesitated, continuing to eye it oddly for a couple more moments. Gil’s smile was just beginning to fade before he eventually got himself to move. Grimacing at the awkwardness, Malcolm moved with his right arm, bracing himself against the seat of the car and shifting over towards the chair.

Ainsley took the umbrella, and Gil stooped down so he could reach in and help transition him over. Once he managed it, Ainsley scooted to the side a little, so she could be sure that her brother was underneath the umbrella all the way. Gil helped him with his legs until he was situated. Malcolm sagged back into the chair the instant he could, like he was exhausted just from that minimal moving. “Alright!” Gil braced, rounding the chair so that he could grab the handles. Jessica started to slide out once he pulled it away from the mouth of the car. “You feel okay, Bright?”

Her brother said nothing and just offered a tiny nod.

His lips were pressed tightly together.

Her frown started to worsen. But again, she said nothing and just took to making sure he stayed dry, walking slowly next to his wheelchair as Gil started for the house. The steps would be a challenge, but it wasn’t one they hadn’t done before. She noticed as they walked that Malcolm’s stare was getting far-away and vacant again. Like he wasn’t actually there. She opened her mouth to say something, if only to get his attention back to the present, when suddenly another voice was cutting through the rain. It was high and raised into a yell— it was grabbing all of their attention’s, _especially _Malcolm’s, and wrenching them all to a halt. Ainsley’s stomach plummeted about twelve feet as she whirled around. Jessica was turning as well, but right before she could, she caught the expression that was on her face. It was already twisted and broiling with anger.

But that didn’t stop them.

“Malcolm Bright!” the person had yelled. They all whirled around to see it was someone with an umbrella, rushing up from seemingly out of nowhere. Their eyes were sparkling with excitement as they rushed straight for them. At the unexpected shout, Malcolm had reacted poorly, like he always tended to do— he’d shrank back a little in the chair, his eyes going much wider. But if the person noticed that, they certainly gave no heed. They didn’t care when Gil let go of the wheelchair and clenched his hands, starting over to meet them before they could get near, either. In fact, they didn’t even glance at him; all their attention was solely for Malcolm. “Malcolm Bright!” they called again when they got closer. “Can I have a word with you!?”

Malcolm was tense, trying to twist around awkwardly to see them.

Gil planted himself between the person and Malcolm, throwing out an arm to stop them in their tracks. “We’re not taking any questions.” His voice was uncharacteristically rough and growl-like when he said this. The glower he was fixing the man with was enough to freeze any sane person on the spot. “If you don’t _mind, _we’d like for you to leave and—”

“Malcolm Bright, just a _few _words from you!” they pleaded, not listening to Gil at all. “How have you been coping since you’ve returned home!?” Jessica scowled at them with enough poison to make them drop dead. She looked like she would be screaming at them, if she wasn’t too busy choking on her own rage. “How have you been handling your year away? Has it been easy, returning to normal life?”

Malcolm looked like a deer in headlights. His eyes huge and stricken.

The person looked like they were planning on walking closer but Gil stopped them, putting a hand hard against their chest, and pushing them backwards. The shove was almost enough to send them toppling over the curb. Going by the lieutenant’s face, it was a shame that didn’t happen. “I said _leave,” _he spat out. There was a dangerous light in his eyes as he scowled at the reporter, warning them of what was going to happen if he didn’t listen. Jessica forced herself to whirl back around and start pushing Malcolm towards the steps again. But she needed Gil on the other end to help get him up. And despite the fact he was being moved away, Malcolm stayed staring blankly at the person as they just raised their voice to call after him.

“How does it feel to be the _only _survivor of Winston Price’s kidnappings!?” they shouted.

Malcolm jerked backward a bit. Like he was slapped across the face.

They held up their phone, taking a couple of rapid-fire pictures. “What do you want to _say _to Winston Price!?” they pressed.

He said absolutely nothing. But all the color was drained away from his face, by now.

Gil snapped. He lashed out, smacking the phone right out of their hands. It fell with a clatter to the flooded street. It looked like the person was about to reach down and try to save it, but Gil stopped them again, so they had no choice but to look at him. His eyes were just slits now— warning and leaving nothing to the imagination. “You listen to _me_— you leave this family alone!” he snapped. They backed up just a little, glaring at him defensively. But he wasn’t deterred by them at all. “You’re lucky if I don’t have you arrested for harassment— _get out of here!”_

They hesitated, looking from him to the Whitlys behind him.

Ainsley scowled, momentarily forgetting her job of keeping Malcolm out of the rain. Instead, she stormed over until she could stand at Gil’s side, absolutely furious. “I’ve said it before: any news in my family is _mine _to report!” she snapped, every word stinging like acid.

Malcolm did a double-take, his eyes rounding out just a little bit more.

They hesitated for one more heartbeat, looking between the two. But they eventually must have realized they weren’t going to get anything accomplished. Throwing one last look at Malcolm, getting poured on but not even acknowledging the fact, they stooped down to get their phone and rushed away. Ainsley glowered after them, before she remembered herself and spun back around. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry, Mal!” She backtracked, getting him back under the cover of the umbrella as fast as she could. He was still staring at the spot the person had been standing. When Ainsley rushed back, he roused only to blink fast and look blankly at her. He was still stunned, it seemed.

She wilted, concern crawling over her expression. “Mal?” she pressed, more warily. “You okay?”

He fumbled, trying to get something out. “…I…you—”

_“Darling, I’m so sorry!” _Whatever he was about to say was cut off, when Jessica skirted around the wheelchair and crouched to be on his level. He jerked, his head snapping over to her at her sudden advance. But she didn’t notice his jolt; she just reached up to hold his face, wet with rain, in her hands tenderly. She drew her thumbs across his cheeks, worried and filled with regret as she searched his eyes. “We tried to make sure nothing like that would happen— are you alright?” He started to answer, but she was already sweeping on. “Don’t feel like you owe _anyone, anything, _Malcolm— you don’t have to—”

“I _know_.” He ducked away from her so she had no choice but to let go. His eyes flickered quickly to Ainsley when he sat up more again. She wilted, confused and worried, but before she could ask what was wrong, he was looking away from her again. “I just want to go inside. It’s cold.” She tried to piece apart the expression on his face, but it was impossible. He looked upset, but guarded at the same time. If he was holding cards, he was keeping them close to his chest, so she wouldn’t be able to see. His hands were trembling violently, though.

Jessica’s face fell at his clear refusal. She took her hands away, slowly and hesitantly. For a couple moments, it seemed she might say something more, or try and press, but at the last second she gave up. She just stood and went back around to the handles so she could push him from the back. Gil walked to the front and picked it up from there, the two of them working together to carry him up the stairs. Both of them looked concerned for his sake; Ainsley caught them exchange a couple glances as they got him inside. But neither of them spoke. They both seemed to understand, by the look on Malcolm’s face, that it would be unwise.

Ainsley did the same, just falling into step beside them, so she could keep Malcolm under the umbrella. Once they got inside, she hung back to shut the door behind all of them. She hesitated in the entryway, though, before she did— glancing over her shoulder with a heavy look at the rain, which was supposed to have ensured this very thing didn’t happen.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_‘What are you now, Whitly?’ _

_‘…’_

_‘I _said…what. Are. You. Now?’

_‘A case.’ _

_A heavy kick directly into his stomach. Strong enough to make him hit the ground with a pathetic, breathless whine. ‘That’s _not _what you are.’ A pause, as he struggled to recollect himself and pick himself up off the floor. The growl was in his ear, next. Threatening, and looming. _‘Say it,’ _he snarled. _‘What _are you?’ _

_‘A victim,’ he gave in, his voice small and choked. Wheezing out of still-halfway-paralyzed lungs._

_Another kick. This time he couldn’t get up after it. _

_‘That’s right,’ Winston all but purred. ‘You’re a victim. _My _victim. That’s all you are now, and to all of _them_, that’s all you’ll _ever _be. Once they find your body, it’ll be all they think of when they think of you. You’re not a man. You’re not a _person. _You’re a _victim. _And that’s all you’ll stay…’_

Malcolm stared dully at the glass of water by his bedside, watching the condensation drip down the side like little raindrops of their own. The house was silent. The only sound was the rain, still pouring outside…and the echoes in his own head. His stomach was in knots; his hands were trembling. It was just a snapshot, just a _moment _in time compared to the vast sea of everything there was still to face, and yet it was playing in a loop behind his eyelids. Every time he blinked, he swore he could see the outline of Winston standing over him, his eyes bright with sick satisfaction. He could _hear _the amused curl in his voice— the certainty cementing every threat he’d growled into his ear.

_‘What are you now?’_

He cringed, ducking his head and trying to fight it off— trying to at least _ignore _it. But he couldn’t. If he wasn’t seeing those flashes of Winston – if he wasn’t hearing his voice lancing shivers down his spine – then he was seeing that reporter on the street, staring wide-eyed at him, like they couldn’t believe their eyes he was actually there— actually _alive. _The pity on their face, the morbid curiosity— it had all been there, staring him down. Freezing him up and making him go blank.

He was never blank. He was never…_stuck _like that.

_‘What are you, now?’ _

_No. No, no, _no. _I’m _not—

_‘A victim.’ _From his own mouth. Defeated, and broken.

He reached out for the glass, trying to get his hand to work enough to wrap around it. But the very second he was grabbing it, a voice broke through the quiet that had been permeating the room. “Malcolm?” The voice was quiet and hesitant, but it elicited the same reaction it would have, had it been a yell. Malcolm went into a spasm of fear, ducking away from the general direction it had come from. His arms had jerked, like he’d wanted to throw them up in front of him to shield himself. The only reason he _didn’t _was the thud that followed, and the realization that he had still been holding onto his water when he’d jumped.

He jerked, his eyes widening when he realized that he’d managed to spill about half of the glass. He muttered a curse under his breath, looking down at himself and realizing some of it had already gotten on the bed. “I’m sorry!” He glanced up at the doorway and his eyes flashed when he realized Ainsley was standing there, a hand clapped over her mouth and guilt layering her expression. “Here— let me get a towel!” He opened his mouth to stop her and tell her it didn’t matter, but she was already rushing away before he could.

He sighed, his shoulders drooping and his face falling with something much too close to exhaustion. He forced himself to focus on moving aside everything— saving the books from the puddle, moving the box of tissues. By the time Ainsley came back he had most of it contained. He was ready to reach out and take it from her, but without a word she just set to cleaning it up herself. He was left to sit and watch in morose silence as she did.

_So pathetic you can’t even clean up your own messes…_

She caught his eye and sobered a little, like she knew what he was thinking. When she spoke, her voice was soft and remorseful. “I’m sorry for scaring you…”

Immediately, he grimaced. “You didn’t—” The objection died on his tongue. She glanced at him again, openly skeptical. He just let it die, deflating and staring wearily at the mess that was mostly cleaned up, instead. “It’s fine,” he sighed, barely audible.

Her eyes flashed when she heard how dull his voice sounded. “You okay?” He said nothing, so she kept going, redirecting her stare to the water she was mopping up, if that made it easier for him to talk. “Ever since we’ve gotten home you’ve been…quiet.” Still, he stayed mute. Once she finished wiping everything up, there was nothing else to point her focus to. Putting the wet towel aside, she sat down on the edge of his bed and looked at him in that searching ‘C’mon’ way she usually did. He looked away from her, and that was when she was certain something was wrong. “Hey…you can talk to me, Mal,” she pushed. “You can tell me anything.”

He looked back at her. There seemed to be nothing but earnestness in her voice and her face. But it wasn’t sitting right with him. Nothing was sitting right with him. And with the echoing voice still going in the back of his head – _‘What are you now? What are you now?’_ – he couldn’t keep it inside. It burst out all on its own. Small, but cynical. “Yeah, I bet I can,” he mumbled.

She frowned, confused. “…I mean…_yeah_. You know how many secrets I’ve kept from Mom for you?” She grinned a little, her voice turning more teasing when she said, “I _still_ haven’t told her about the time you were at the country club and—”

“What did you mean?” Malcolm asked, not in the mood to listen, right now.

Her frown was back. “What did I mean where?”

“Outside. With the reporter,” he said. “When you said any news about your family is _yours_ to report.” She tilted her head a little, but he could see the understanding starting to dawn over her. His eyes started to narrow, just slightly. Reproach was hiding in his voice, but it didn’t help that it was shaking so much. It was shaking just as much as his hands were. “What did you mean by that?” She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. His reproach only grew.

“I’m not a…” _victim,_ _“story, _Ainsley. I’m not some _story _for you to…get _views_ out of.” He thought of all the nights she’d slept in his room with him because she knew he hated being alone. The playlist she’d made for him to wake up to every morning. His throat started to burn. “Is that what all this is about?” he demanded, his voice noticeably weaker already. “Is that the goal for you, at the end of all this? An…_exclusive?” _

_‘That’s all you are now, and to them, it’s all you’ll _ever_ be.’ _

“I— no, Malcolm, of course not!” she blustered eventually, once she got over the initial slap of shock. “I was just saying that to get him to _leave_.” She could tell he didn’t believe her. She shook her head, going on. “It was just something I’d said before, so I was just…” She sighed, wilting with sorrow. “Mal, do you _really_ think I would make you talk about something you didn’t want to? Much less put it out there for everyone to see?” His anger started to die, in the face of her sudden mood change. He wilted, staring at her.

She shook her head, reaching out and putting her hand on top of his. “Malcolm…you _can _tell me…_absolutely anything _you want. But _only_ if you want. I don’t want to force you, or make you. And I _definitely _don’t want to do it with a camera.” His stomach twisted at the mere thought. She gave him a look. “I’m not here for you waiting for an _exclusive, _I’m here for you because you’re my _brother _and I _missed you _for an entire _year. _Doesn’t that make a _little bit more_ sense?”

He stared at her for a couple of seconds in silence, debating. But there wasn’t much to debate over— not with the way she was looking at him, genuinely hurt over the assumption. His face fell and his shoulders drooped. “Yeah…it does…I’m sorry, Ains,” he breathed. “I’m just…” He looked down at the blankets, his expression heavy. “I’m just…in my own head. I guess. I’m sorry— I shouldn’t take it out on you.” Ainsley said nothing; for a heartbeat or more, the room was completely silent. A small smile twitched up the corner of his lips, though, when he looked back up at her and murmured quietly, “…I missed you, too.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes to minimize the smile that spread over her face. She shook her head, reaching out and pushing gently at his shoulder. “You’re a _dork,” _she laughed, which got Malcolm smiling even more. She didn’t actually say anything in regards to the apology, but the affection on her face said enough to let him know there was no harm done. She clapped her hands together, moving on quickly. _“Anyway, _I came in here because Gil offered to go to the store and asked if you wanted anything.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m fine.” She nodded, giving him one more smile and patting his hand before she got up from the bed and started to walk the way she’d come. Malcolm’s smile vanished, though, the second her back was turned. She made it all the way to the door before he called after her, his voice suddenly tense all over again. “Ains?” Her grin was fast to fade when she saw him and how anxious he looked all of a sudden. He hesitated, but the silence that came over the room was the perfect encouragement. “Could you…do you think you could…stay here? For a little bit?” he asked, his voice small. She tilted her head. He grimaced, trying his best to explain in a way that wasn’t absolutely pathetic. “It’s…just…very…_quiet, _and…”

He didn’t finish, but he didn’t need to. Ainsley softened, and smiled again as she doubled back. “Yeah. Of course,” she said, sitting back down where she had been a couple moments ago. Malcolm relaxed immediately. She must have realized, because her smile grew a little, and there wasn’t a single beat of hesitation before she started to talk. “_So_…to update you on my _wonderfully-exciting_ work life…”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_“You’ll never see your friends or family again.” _

_“Maybe when I’m through with you I’ll go after your pretty little sister…make your mom have to deal with burying _both _her kids…”_

_“Nobody is going to want you after this anyway; you might as well give up.” _

“Beg_ me not to hurt you.”_

_“So pathetic— you couldn’t save anyone else; _you_ don’t deserve to be saved either.” _

_“You’re nothing. Worthless. If people cared about you, you would be safe right now.”_

Malcolm jerked, his eyes snapping open. His breathing was sharp and elevated, and loud in the darkness. At first, all he could do was lay there, his fear keeping him rooted to one spot. When he eventually _could_ move, his head was snapping to the left. His eyes immediately drilled for the ground. Sure enough, Ainsley was there, fast asleep. He stared at her, stricken, still breathing quick. But gradually, he was beginning to calm down. His heart wasn’t pounding as a harsh staccato, his breathing was easing into something more normal. His fear was ebbing away like the tide. He closed his eyes, slowly sagging more into the mattress. He reached up and drew his right hand down his face, trying not to notice how much it was trembling. He sighed, turning and starting to roll onto his side.

But the very _second_ he did, he felt that something was wrong.

The instant he rolled over, he was freezing and locking up all over again when he saw a shape standing a ways away from his bed, hidden away in the corner.

He didn’t even have time to scream before the person was rushing forward, one hand locking hard around his throat and the other going over to shove his shoulder down so he was on his back.

Malcolm floundered and choked, his eyes huge with terror as he found himself staring right into the eyes he had stared into for the past year.

Winston’s eyes were gleaming with a sick, sadistic light as he watched Malcolm try to thrash and squirm out of his grip. He couldn’t fight— all he could do was scrabble pathetically at the hand locked around his neck, cutting off his air. He snickered, leaning more over him, putting more weight down on his throat. “I _told_ you,” he cooed, savoring all of his useless struggles. “There’s only _one _way this ends…” Malcolm cringed, trying to scream out despite the fact he had no air. Immediately, Winston was planting his other hand over his mouth, muffling all of his screeches for help. Malcolm started thrashing more violently, but it was fruitless; he was overpowered. Frantic, horrified tears started rolling down his cheeks as he tried to shake his head fast from side to side. Winston just dug his nails into his face, slowly breaking skin. “I’m not done with you yet…” he snarled. Malcolm screamed and sobbed; he ignored all of it. “You’re coming back with me…”

Everything was fast to melt away into a white-hot, burning panic. A million thoughts were going through his head. Ainsley— Ainsley had been on the floor, but she wasn’t helping him now— she was dead, Winston had killed her, she hadn’t been _asleep, _she was lying there _dead_ on the floor and his mom was dead too, somewhere. Everyone was dead and Winston was going to drag him back out to some remote location and he was going to finish what he’d started. Gil— where was Gil, where was Dani, where was JT, where was _anybody, he was going to be taken again and nobody was there to help this hell was going to start all over again, what was he supposed to do he couldn’t do this again he was going to die he was going to die he was going to die he was going to—_

“Malcolm!” He gasped in a harsh, grating breath as he went completely stiff. He whirled around, his hands flying up and out for the voice in an attempt to knock them away. Thankfully, Ainsley jerked backwards in just enough time to avoid being hit. Malcolm’s eyes were wild and crazed when they locked with his sister’s, just as scared. He gasped and choked, spluttering on absolutely nothing as if there were still hands locked around his throat. Quickly, his erratic breathing stuttered into a coughing fit, his arms flying back to shield himself, instead. His throat was burning, like he _had _been strangled. Or maybe because he’d been screaming.

“Malcolm, it’s okay!” Ainsley cried, trying to reach out for him. “You’re okay, Malcolm, nothing’s wrong!”

He jerked away from her, like her touch hurt. Instead, he whirled around, looking back up to where Winston had been just a second ago. He faltered, shocked when he saw absolutely nothing. There was nobody there. Nobody crouched over him, nobody with their hands on his throat, nobody smirking down at him as he floundered and struggled. Confusion rendered him motionless.

He was staring up at the ceiling in horrified puzzlement, struggling to put two and two together, when his mother burst into the room, panicked but still half-asleep. _“What’s wrong!?”_ she demanded, Malcolm jumping at the new voice and looking at her with the same stricken expression he’d looked at Ainsley with. She rushed over to him, reaching out to cup his face in her hands. Initially, he jerked away from her, but when her palms went flat against his cheeks, he stilled, his breath hitching. “What’s wrong, darling, what happened?”

“I— I— I—” He couldn’t get anything out. He couldn’t get in enough _air, _too. Whenever he started to say something, his breath fell away from him, crumpling into something akin to a sob, instead. He looked around the room again, not able to believe it was actually empty— expecting to see Winston back in that corner, that sneering smile still on his face. He couldn’t see him anymore but the memory was enough— it was enough to make him shake, to tremble, to hyperventilate. His eyes filled with tears and before he could do anything to stop them, they started to roll down his face. He started crying, too scared and confused to put words to anything.

Immediately, his mother came closer, wiping away every tear she could. “Oh…oh, _sweetheart, _don’t cry sweetheart, it’s okay.” He didn’t react to her soothes— he was inconsolable. The more he heard her voice and felt her touch the harder he cried. He sobbed and gasped, and when Jessica leaned out to hug him, he practically flew at her, clinging to her as tightly he could. She cringed when she felt him shake in her arms. But she took in a deep breath and shook her head, hugging him closer and gently rocking from side to side. She kissed the top of his head, rubbing his back as he sobbed into her shoulder.

A tear rushed down Ainsley’s cheek, as she watched her brother sob in incoherent panic. She climbed up into the bed, shifting over and reaching out to join the hug, too. She put her arms around her brother and rested her head on his shoulder, feeling him heave and choke. She didn’t try to say anything to him and neither did Jessica— they both knew it wouldn’t do anything. Not right now. For right now, they just sat with him and held him. Not knowing what it was that was getting him gasping, crying, practically _screaming_, but understanding that whatever they _didn’t_ know it was horrible.

Hugging him tight enough to hopefully keep all of his pieces together.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_“Malcolm! Come here, Malcolm! Come on! Come here!” Martin’s voice was soft as down, and about two octaves higher than it normally was. Affection oozed in every syllable, as did happiness and encouragement. Malcolm was sitting on the floor with Jessica, having been playing with his blocks for the past ten minutes (which seemed to be his threshold in terms of attention span, so far). Three of the blocks had been carefully stacked; the other one he was currently banging against the ground. _

_At his father’s call, he looked up, his blue eyes wide and curious. He smiled his beautiful, wonderful smile when his father reached out for him. “Come here, my boy! C’mere!” Malcolm just shrieked and giggled, clapping his hands together and chirping out a yell as if to mimic his father. Jessica’s smile was soft and filled with adoration as she watched the two loves of her life. Martin swooped down, crouching low to the floor and bundling up their son in his arms, peppering kisses over his face and swaying him fast from side to side— both of which just made him shriek even louder. “Oh, I missed you dearly, today!” he cooed. _

_Martin kissed his forehead one more time before he looked over at Jessica and he softened even more. “I missed you, too,” he reassured, as if he was worried she would feel left out. It made her smile and, a little stupidly, blush. He always made her blush— from the very first day they had met. He leaned out, and she met his kiss eagerly. It was a quick peck, but it was making her warm with affection regardless. Her husband leaned back the short distance away and smiled at her tenderly for a couple more seconds. Before his eyes flashed and he grinned wide again, looking down at Malcolm and letting him stand by holding tightly to his hands, which he squeezed. “Where’s Mommy?” he gasped. “Malcolm, where’s Mommy?” _

_Malcolm blinked before he twisted around, stumbling awkwardly as he looked back at Jessica, who smiled down at him just as wide as Martin had. Malcolm giggled, smiling a little. Martin led him carefully to turn all the way around, so he could face her. He leaned down close to his ear and started to encourage him. “Go on, Malcolm— go see Mommy! Walk to Mommy!” Jessica reached out, invitingly and encouragingly. Malcolm just kept smiling his adorable little grin. Martin guided his hands out further, trying to get him going. “You can do it, my boy! Walk to Mommy!”_

_Malcolm giggled again. He took one step, still hanging onto his father’s hands. _

_Jessica beamed. They were only a few feet away; with her arms outstretched, there were mere inches of space Malcolm didn’t have someone there to catch him. They had been trying to encourage him to walk for ages, now. He was taking his time. Jessica almost warned Martin not to rush him into anything, when Martin slowly let go of his hands, ensuring he wouldn’t fall as he did. Immediately, Malcolm started to wobble and nearly tip over. Jessica jumped, alarm rushing through her as she started to rush out and catch him. The thought of him falling was her worst nightmare. _

_But he didn’t fall. He recovered and righted himself before he could. No sooner did Jessica laugh and start to congratulate him just on that, he was taking a step. And then another, and another. It was only a handful of steps that was needed, to get from his father to his mother, and they were stuttering, awkward steps— stumbling and half-falling the entire way. But he walked to her— he _walked, _to _her! _Her eyes flew wide and her mouth fell open when he rushed for her. He collided against her with a tiny thud, falling into her arms. _

_Immediately, she bundled him close, hugging him and beaming. Martin beamed too, the pair looking at each other in shocked elation. They jumped up together, Jessica holding her son close to her as they got to their feet and starting jumping up and down like excited children. “He did it!” Jessica gasped. “He did it, he walked— Malcolm took his first steps!”_

_Martin was too happy to reply, but he quickly hugged her close, kissing her and then bending to kiss the top of their son’s head. They hugged each other and laughed. Later, they would take a picture and put it in his scrapbook. They would proudly write out that it was _today_ he took his first steps. They would shower him with praise and attention and Jessica would fawn over the fact that her son had chosen to walk to _her. _That her boy had taken his first steps towards _her.

“That’s it, Malcolm. You’re doing _so _well, just keep breathing. Remember to breathe— in and out, real slow, breathe through all that pain and anxiety.” Jessica watched from the entryway of the study, her heart in her throat. Malcolm was sitting at the side of the bed, hunched over and gasping just from that small transition. Kristen was hovering on his left, an energetic and bright smile on her face despite Malcolm’s obvious trouble. Erin was hovering on his right. They’d set up a walker in front of him; the goal was just to _stand, _today. That’s all. And yet…

“You’re doing very well, Malcolm,” Kristen repeated. “Put your hands on the walker, here, that’s it. Curl those fingers…_there _you go.” Jessica swallowed painfully when she watched how much slower Malcolm’s left hand was to curl around the walker. It looked like he had to use conscious effort to move his fingers, while the right was perfectly fine. He was trembling from head to toe; the walker was shivering right along with him. The two had fastened a belt around her son’s chest; each of them had a tight hold on each side, to help him up and support him so that he wouldn’t fall, when he did. “You just take your time and tell me when you’re ready to stand, okay? Doesn’t matter how long you can do it, we’re just testing the waters, today. No pressure.”

Jessica felt tears prick at her eyes when she saw how nervous and hesitant he was. When she saw how he wavered, just like he had when he was little and Martin had first let go of his hands. Just like then, he was so unsure…so small, in the face of something as big as standing up on his own. It was years later – a lifetime later – and yet she found herself just as apprehensive as she had been back then. Just as poised to rush forward and throw her arms out…just in case he fell.

“Okay…you ready?” Erin asked. Malcolm cringed and said nothing, at first. But then, after a beat of hesitation, he nodded his head once. The movement was slight, but she caught it. The two exchanged a look; Jessica wondered how in the world they could look so optimistic when they were that close to her son, and seeing everything that Jessica was seeing. “Alright; we’re gonna help you, okay? We’ll be right here— no matter _what _happens, you _won’t _fall, okay? That’s why we got this gait belt on you; if you start to fall, we’re going to catch you.”

“I’m going to help you get up, okay? We’ll work with the walker more another day, that’s mainly there for balance— we gotta get your left arm a little stronger so you can brace yourself on it better. This is just the last thing we’re going to do today, just to see where you are, okay?” Kristen swore. It was like she was talking to a five-year-old. Malcolm must have noticed, but he didn’t say anything. He nodded again, the movement just as small. “Alright…ready?” He hesitated, but nodded again. Jessica’s stomach flipped when she saw him tighten his hold on the walker. “Three…two…one!”

At the end of the countdown, they grabbed tighter to the belt and all but hauled him up all by themselves. Malcolm was forced to try and keep up and keep steady. He stood, but his knees immediately wobbled and threatened to buckle. Jessica jerked and started to rush over when she saw him stagger, but the two girls were quick to intervene. Holding each side, they steadied him and propped him up, supporting most of his weight so he didn’t have to. Still, Malcolm’s expression was contorted in pain and discomfort, his breathing hitched in uneven gasps as he struggled to keep a hold of the walker for balance. His left arm was quickly folding, though— unable to handle a task as big as this so early on.

Despite all this, Erin’s voice was bright. “There you go! You’re doing it, Malcolm— you’re standing!” Jessica’s throat burned as her son could only continue to gasp in and out, groaning and whimpering the longer he was forced to hold himself up. “We’re going to hold this for a couple more seconds, okay? We’re gonna—”

“No, I— let me down!” Malcolm objected, practically spitting out the words.

She tried to stay firm. “Just a _couple _more seconds, Malcolm, you can do this! You—!”

_“No, let me down! I can’t stay like this, let me down!” _he yelled, in a horrible mix of desperation and anger. His left arm slipped off the walker and he staggered again. Again, they caught him, but it was getting him yelling all over again. _“Please, just let me down, I— please!” _His voice was tight and pinched with the cry. Jessica ducked her head, flinching away. Erin and Kristen exchanged yet another glance. They wilted, but complied, gently lowering him back down to the bed. Once he hit it and could sit again, he was deflating like a balloon, hunching in on himself like he was injured as he took in shallow after shallow gasp.

Kristen tried to stay optimistic. “You did _really _well, Malcolm,” she repeated, a broken record. “That was a _great _first go at it! You stayed up almost fifteen seconds!”

He said nothing. He couldn’t even look at her.

All the way from where she stood, Jessica could feel his shame and disappointment.

It made her absolutely _sick_. To know that he felt that way when it was out of his control.

To know that he hadn’t even made it fifteen seconds.

To know that her son, who had taken his first steps towards her that lifetime ago, who would always run amuck with his sister and wreak havoc, who used to run down to the ocean on vacations, couldn’t walk anymore. Couldn’t even _stand_.

Not yet.

That’s what she told herself, at least. To make it better. To make it _easier_, looking at him now, out of breath and in pain and biting back tears of frustration. It was the only thing she could think of that might take the edge off. Even though it was dull. Even though it was hollow. Weak. She told it to herself so that she might have _something. _

Not _yet_.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~) 

Over the year that Sunshine had been in Ainsley’s care, her home had gone through a bit of a remodel. According to Ainsley, Malcolm was ‘the single worst bird owner that had ever graced this planet.’ Once it was clear that someone had to take care of Sunshine with her brother’s disappearance, she’d spent hours researching what went into providing care for a parakeet, and, “Let me tell you, brother mine: you suck at taking care of a parakeet” was her concluding thesis. Yet, along with that touching statement, was the reassurance of, “But don’t worry, I took care of everything.”

She’d outfitted her cage with a couple little toys that would fit and not take up too much room. Turns out, Sunshine was in _love _with the hobby of tearing up paper. Most of the toys were just made out of paper or had little streamers on it that she just went crazy with. The bottom of her cage was a testament to that fact— it was _covered_ in tiny little shreds, which she routinely would fly down and work to shred even _more, _when she was especially bored.

Along with those, Ainsley had _also _bought her a bell. For some reason.

And that was they toy she had selected to play with, at 11:54 at night.

Tweeting and chirping to herself, Sunshine kept leaning out and grabbing the string with her little beak, ringing the bell over and over again, endlessly. She was very intent on this venture; it had been going for a good five minutes now, and she was showing no signs of stopping. But Malcolm wasn’t bothered by it— in fact, he was watching her play with the bell with a tiny smile on his face. Ainsley was asleep on the floor, again; she must not hear the incessant tinkling, or she was just so tired it didn’t even wake her. Either way, Malcolm was the only one awake, in the room. Watching Sunshine fondly, with no intentions of going to sleep any time soon.

He was so focused on watching her and listening to her little bell, he almost didn’t notice movement in the doorway. But old habits died hard, and the slight movement of the person trying to draw away from the windowed door was enough to yank Malcolm’s attention front and center. His heart did a somersault and his stomach twisted, when his head snapped towards them. Thankfully, the light from the nightlight was enough for him to make out who it was. After the initial shock, he relaxed and sagged, the brief burst of panic fading away.

Gil’s expression was apologetic when he opened the door and walked inside. His eyes flickered to Ainsley and flashed a little. He hesitated, unsure, but when he looked at Malcolm again, he kept walking. His eyebrows were a little knitted. When he got close enough, he spoke up in barely a whisper, as to not wake her. “You’re still up?” he breathed. He checked his watch, frowning even more. “It’s midnight.”

“I’m not tired,” Malcolm murmured back. A lie.

Gil knew it was a lie— Malcolm could tell on his face that he knew. He looked at him in that way that just _radiated _concern and how much he wanted to lecture him, but just knew that if he did it would fall on deaf ears. Gil had that look a lot; Malcolm was great at picking it up by now. Gil sat down at his bedside, leaning back against the chair and surveying him closely. For a second or two they sat in silence together, before, eventually, he said: “You want me to get you something to help? I know you have at _least _melatonin in that big box of medication.”

Malcolm tried not to wilt too noticeably. Gil caught it, anyway— it was clear that was what he’d been expecting, going by the look on his face. He looked down at his quilt, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. He sighed, his shoulders slouching a little when he caved. “I don’t want to go to sleep…” he rasped. The look Gil wore now was much soberer. He hesitated, staring at him and feeling his expression start to weaken. He was trying to fortify it, but it was like plugging up holes in a sinking ship— he could feel himself going under anyway.

“I’m…remembering…more and more,” he whispered, his voice suddenly sounding very small. Gil’s face fell more. The breath Malcolm took in was shaky and trembling before he continued. “They’re…little glimpses…and flashes, but…they’re coming back…faster and faster. Memories of—” He broke off and stared off into space for a couple seconds, before he shook his head and gave up. “Memories of _everything, _and I just…I just know that…the _second _I close my eyes…it’ll all be there waiting for me.” His throat was getting thicker and thicker. Trying to clear it was a losing battle, too, he knew. So he just didn’t.

Gil looked at him sorrowfully, but he tried to keep his voice bracing. “Ainsley is right here, if you need her,” he pointed out, glancing at his little sister. Malcolm did too, the unease itching under his skin not going away in the slightest. “She’ll wake you up the second you start having a nightmare…” He trailed off, picking up on the fact that the reminder wasn’t doing as much as he wanted it to. He sighed, leaning forward a little and clasping his hands, settling his elbows on his knees. He looked at him carefully, with concern but firmness, too. Yet another staple ‘Gil expression.’ “I know it’s hard, kid…” he breathed. “But you need to sleep at _some _point.”

Malcolm didn’t reply. He hesitated for a long moment, his heart in his throat and his stomach tied up in knots. The silence in the room was oppressive; even Sunshine had stopped playing with her bell. Gil continued to look at him closely throughout the entire thing, giving him time to think through whatever it was he wanted to say. Sure enough, he eventually got up the courage to get the words out of his mouth. Though it wasn’t without a severe amount of difficulty. “What is…” He swallowed hard, fighting the urge not to grimace. “What’s happening…with…?” He couldn’t finish. He looked at Gil anxiously. Dreading his reply, in a certain degree.

Thankfully, he seemed to understand. Gil took in a slow breath, his eyes flashing. He looked down at the ground, taking his time in gathering himself. “His…” He cleared his throat, shifting a little in the chair. His words came heavily. “His sentencing is coming up,” he eventually managed. Malcolm stared at him apprehensively, saying nothing. Gil noticed his hands were beginning to shake. He quickly tried to redirect the focus. “I thought I’d gotten rid of all the reporters by the time I got there…usually I just have to flash my badge and they clear out. I’m sorry I missed one…that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Are they…always out there?”

“Pretty constantly,” he sighed. “At work, too. I hope they start to die off once everything’s wrapped up.”

“And the families?” he pressed, still barely speaking. Gil looked at him in confusion. He was forced to elaborate. “The families of…Amelia…of Bennett…how are they?”

Gil did a double-take. He was so surprised he forgot to whisper when he repeated: “Families?” They both jumped and looked at Ainsley, expecting her to at least sit up or to snap at them to shut up. But she didn’t even move. They both looked back at each other and while Gil’s eyes were rounded out with apology over the outburst, they were wide with another emotion, too. He wasn’t quite sure what that one was, until he heard the sorrowful understanding in his voice. “You don’t need to be worrying about them right now, Bright…you should focus on you.” Malcolm stayed staring apprehensively. Gil sighed and shook his head dismissively. “They’re _fine_. And _you _would be too…if you got some sleep.”

Malcolm sighed, his shoulders slouching when he found himself full circle. “Yeah…” He stared off for a couple moments before he perked and looked over at him, suddenly realizing something. “How come you’re still here?” he whispered.

“Your mom gave me the guest room again…it seems I’m back in her good graces,” he mused.

This, he cracked a smile at. “Oh…well, good,” he hummed. _See? You have Ainsley on the floor and Gil right outside your room. There’s no reason to be scared— _why _are you still scared? _Why _are your hands still shaking? _“Your fighting was getting on my nerves,” he breathed, speaking just to try and ignore his own thoughts. At least Gil wasn’t aware of it; he grinned and laughed, nodding a couple of times. Once his smile faded, though, he was back to looking at him carefully. He opened his mouth, but Malcolm beat him to it. “I don’t need to take anything, Gil,” he murmured. “I’ll go to sleep here soon.”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly not believing him.

“I promise,” he tacked on.

Gil had to consider it. But eventually he gave in, with a heavier exhale. “Alright,” he sighed. Malcolm felt a touch of relief that was slightly dampened when Gil eyed him and said: “Don’t make me have to come check on you later.” Malcolm shook his head, and Gil stood up. He cast one more look at Ainsley before he looked at Malcolm and smiled. “Goodnight, then, kid.”

He smiled right back. “Night, Gil.”

The older man hesitated, pausing mid-step and looking back at him again. His mouth was halfway open. He floundered.

But Malcolm just smiled a little more at him.

He didn’t need to say it again. He knew.

Gil softened. He stayed staring at him for another few, sparse seconds before he turned and left the room. He shut the door silently behind him and disappeared down the hall. Malcolm watched him go, listening to the sound of his footsteps fading away. He turned and looked at Sunshine again, but she wasn’t playing anymore. She was nestled on her perch, her head tucked away under her wing. Somewhere in there, she’d fallen asleep. He sighed, looking back front, at absolutely nothing— at the darkness of the study, dimly lit by the nightlight.

He moved his arms and put them under the blanket, so he might not notice their shaking.

And resigned himself to staying up as long as he possibly could.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_How are you holding up? _

**The same. **

_Woah, that’s too much detail. Maybe tone it down a little._

**It’s just frustrating.**

_I understand. But you have to try._

**I am.**

_Well, then, that’s all you can do._

**Yeah.**

_There has to be something good, going on. Something I can feed Edrisa to keep her satisfied. _

**Alas. I live to disappoint. There is absolutely nothing. **

_You know, JT asked about you today._

**Tell him he’s not allowed to know anything else about me until he tells me his name. **

_Oh, well, then he’ll never know._

**He knows too much already, he could stand to be spared a few details. **

_Absolutely nothing good going on? Really? _

**Nope. **

_Maybe I could come over after work? _

**Awfully bold, to assume you would be a saving grace. **

_I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but… _Then: _Are you saying I wouldn’t be?_

**Never said you wouldn’t be. **

_Well? Then what are you waiting for? Invite me over. _

**Do you want to come over and sit in a chair by my bed and do absolutely nothing because that’s about as much as I can do at the moment? **

_I can’t picture a better way to spend an evening._

**It’s your funeral. **

_Try not to be so dramatic and say you’re happy. _

**Look, I have an emoticon and everything for you: :) **

_I have to get back to work._

**Nobody is making you stay here. **

_You’re distracting._

**I’m literally doing nothing.**

_I’ll see you later, Bright. _

**Looking forward to it, Powell. **

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jessica Whitly opened the door and looked at her like she was holding the last glass of water in the world and it was two hundred degrees outside. Dani barely had time to say anything before she was gasping and grabbing her hands tightly, tugging her inside and slamming the door behind her in one fluid motion. “Dani!” she gushed, either not noticing the wide-eyed, stricken expression on her face, or just not caring about it. It was probably a mixture of the two, as she led her down the hall, still not letting go of her hands. “Oh, you have no _idea _how happy I am to see you!”

“Why?” she asked, trying to get her feet underneath her. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, no, everything’s fine,” she rushed. She threw her another brilliant smile, practically radiating happiness. “I just…like _seeing_ you, is all!” Dani stumbled, nearly tripping with one last tug, but Jessica caught her at the very end, in just enough time for them both to reach the study. She could see inside already—Gil was already there, sitting at his bedside and talking to Malcolm. He was laughing about something. Malcolm was wearing a small smile.

Whatever they were talking about was cut short, though, when, without warning, Jessica threw open the door. Their heads snapped towards her, Malcolm’s eyes a little wider than Gil’s. Letting go of Dani’s hands, she raised her own in surrender, though nothing could seem to dampen her beam. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she said, not sounding all that sorry. Malcolm relaxed slowly— it was like he was a cat and she could see all his bristled fur slowly lowering again. Their eyes met and his filled with understanding. The startled look on his face was gradually replaced with an irritable, exasperated one.

For some reason, when she saw that change, she was smiling.

“Look! Dani is here!” Jessica cheered.

“I see that, Mother,” Malcolm said slowly. “We don’t need the _fanfare.” _He said this like he was embarrassed. It made Dani smile even more. He caught this and did a tiny double-take. It looked like he wanted to shoot her a look, but instead, she could see the smile he was trying to hold back. The tiny, slightly flustered smile. It almost made her laugh aloud. He turned back to his mother, so that there was less of a risk of him cracking. It did nothing to take away Dani’s smile, though. He shot his mother a look, raising his eyebrows at her a little. Obviously wanting her to leave.

She did not get the message. She just stood there, looking from him to her, beaming.

Malcolm glared at her, waiting.

What followed was a slightly-awkward, partially-oblivious standoff.

Thankfully, Gil rose to the occasion and broke the moment. He got up quickly, clearing his throat. “Jessica,” he said, talking just a little louder than normal. Jessica frowned, tearing her eyes away from her son and looking at him instead. He walked over to her, putting a hand on her shoulder and glancing at the other two. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with you for a moment. Outside.” She wilted, opening her mouth to protest, but he didn’t give her the space to. He just shepherded her out, grabbing the door and shutting it behind them as he somehow talked her down the hall. She cast frequent glances over her shoulder, trying to object every so often, but he wouldn’t hear it.

Malcolm sighed when he managed to corral his mother away. He looked at Dani with all the apology in the world. “I’m sorry for…_her…again,” _he exhaled. “She’s…” He shook his head. “I don’t even know _what_ she is.”

“She’s sweet,” Dani laughed. Malcolm threw her a look. She laughed a little under her breath, starting into the room and taking Gil’s seat. “In her own way,” she amended, laughing again. He tilted his head to the side, in a ‘I’ll give you that’ kind of gesture. “Though you’d think she’d know that trick by now— they’re gonna have to come up with new ones.” She sat down the same way she always did and asked the same question she always did when she came. “How are you?”

He sighed, looking at himself like he was checking. “I’m fine,” he exhaled.

She tilted her head to the side. “How’s physical therapy going?”

He sighed again. But he lifted his left arm and showed her. Letting his palm go flat, he supinated and pronated it. His movements were shaky and slow, and there was a certain degree of pinched thought to his gaze that usually wasn’t there, but from there he flexed his hand up just a couple of inches, and then down, bending at the wrist. His expression clouded even more when he curled his fingers into a fist, but he managed it and looked noticeably relieved when he did.

The feats were small at first glance, but Dani knew that they weren’t. She smiled from one ear to the other when he actually _used _his left arm. It had been in a cast for so long, it was strange to see it now, without one. Gingerly, he let it rest down the blankets again. Dani looked at him with something close to excitement. “That’s great, Bright!” He nodded a little, looking a bit strained. She softened with sympathy, when she noticed. He looked at her and their gazes held for a couple moments, before she cleared her throat. “And…the walking? How is that going?”

This one, he didn’t say anything to. He gave his answer well enough by looking away and grumbling something incoherent under his breath. She leaned out a little, trying to catch his eyes again. “Bright…I know it’s hard, but if you keep working at it—”

“I know,” he said, a little loudly. Immediately, he grimaced, regretting the volume and how quick he was with it. “Sorry,” he breathed, looking at her with the same look he had when his mother was being overbearing. “I’m not— trying to—” He sighed, shaking his head and focusing on the blankets. “It’s just _hard_…” he confessed, quietly, like he didn’t want to actually let the words see the light of day. Dani wilted, seeing the strain evident on his face. “To try, and…_fail _to do something…you’ve always been able to do…”

She looked at him sorrowfully, her voice quieter too when she murmured: “I understand.” He glanced at her, doubtful. She leaned a little closer. “You just have to keep trying,” she pressed, trying to be gentle but firm at the same time. His eyes flashed; she could tell he’s heard the spiel before. But just because he’s heard it didn’t mean it sunk in the correct way. “You’re not going to get anywhere in that bed, you know? You’re not going to make _any_ progress. It’s just another roadblock in your way— but you’ve gotten past all the rest, so far.”

He hesitated, but caved after a heartbeat. “Yeah…I know…”

She started to smile, before it fell away into a frown, instead. Having leaned in a little, she was taking a more close-up look at him. “Have you been sleeping?” she asked, getting a full look at him and how fatigued he actually seemed. There were dark circles under his eyes— worse than the _normal _bags that were usually there. She knew he was never a good sleeper before all of this, so she couldn’t imagine what kind of difficulty he was facing now. Yet at the same time, _really _taking the time to stop and look at him, she was tired just from the sight.

“Yeah. Of course,” he said, a little too brightly, a little too fast.

She gave him a look. A very clear: ‘You’re not getting past me’ look.

For a couple seconds it looked like he was going to fight her; his mouth stayed halfway open as he reached for something to say that might sway her. But he eventually gave up, his expression falling and his shoulders drooping as she literally watched the fight drain from his face. The exhaustion crawled back over him instead, even more glaring than before. He closed one eye in a grimace; his lips barely moved when he tried to explain. “I just…can’t take the nightmares. Right now.”

She started to say something, but he was sweeping on before she had the chance to. “I _know…_I need to sleep, I just…_can’t…_right now. I don’t…really expect you to understand— I don’t expect _anybody…_to understand, I just…” He closed his eyes for a couple seconds, sighing out slowly. When he opened his eyes again and looked at her she was disarmed at the amount of sorrow that was waiting for her in those blue depths. He looked pained beyond belief. His voice was small and defeated when he spoke next. “I just want things to be normal,” he tried.

She frowned, confused.

He tried to explain as best he could, stumbling and tripping over himself in the process. “I want things to be normal across the _board, _but…especially for right _now…_when _you’re _here…” He seemed embarrassed. Understanding started to dawn on her. “When you’re here, and you’re…sitting with me, I don’t…I don’t _want _to talk about…_therapy, _or _sleeping, _or _eating, _I just…want to be with you.” The last five words slipped out without him thinking too much about them. Once they were _out, _he had nothing _but _time to think about them. So he grimaced, shaking his head and doubling back. “_I mean_— I just want things to be normal, between us. I don’t want— things to be all about me and what I’m doing. I want them to be about _you, _too. I just…” He sighed, giving up on trying to make the words sound right. It obviously wasn’t going to work out for him, so he might as well just get it out. “I just want _us _to be normal.”

Dani stared at him, about a million different thoughts swirling in her mind.

He waited apprehensively for whatever response there _could _be to that mess.

She tried to figure out what to say. Whether to be sarcastic or sincere or somewhere in between.

But she ended up speaking before she even really knew what she was going to say.

“I can do normal,” she murmured.

He perked, surprised. It only took a couple of seconds for relief to wash over his face. “You can?”

She smiled. “Yeah. ‘Course. We can do normal.”

He smiled back at her. “…Thank you,” he murmured fervently, after a long moment.

“You’re welcome,” she laughed a little. “What are ‘normal’ friends for?”

So she started to talk ‘normally’, telling a funny story about something that had happened at lunch, skirting around case details and things that might make him miss being out in the field anymore, if he even really _did. _Finding relief in the fact that his smile was much stronger now, and that this time it stayed for good.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He’d waited until he was sure his mother was sidetracked with something else, before he called Gil.

“Can you help me?” was all he’d had to ask.

Now, here they were, Malcolm sitting on the side of the bed with a nervous, pained look on his face, Gil hovering right at his side, his hand on his shoulder. Malcolm had gotten to this point and had stopped, just staring tensely at the floor, absolutely motionless. Gil had given him some time to think it through, but the time was beginning to stretch into uncertain lengths, by this point. He leaned down a little bit to him, his voice low and gentle. “Bright…you don’t have to do this if you don’t—”

“I _need _to, though,” he breathed, every word unsteady. He hesitated, but then shook his head, certainty cementing in his eyes when he looked at the walker in front of him. “I _need _to get up— I need to _walk…” _This was said almost with desperation. He looked at Gil out of the corner of his eye, trying his best not to let his nerves show, yet fairly certain at the same time that he was doing a horrible job of it. “I just— need you to make sure I don’t fall,” he said shakily. “And watch my left side, in case it gives out…”

Gil seemed unsure, but he wasn’t about to fight. He just nodded and switched to be on Malcolm’s left side. Malcolm breathed in and out slowly, closing his eyes and concentrating on getting his hands to stop shaking so that he might be able to grip the walker better. He reached out and held onto it— his right hand was curled into a tight, iron-like fist. His left was much weaker in comparison, only managing to wrap around it and that was pretty much it. If he was going to fall from anywhere, it would be because of that left side. He just hoped he could support himself with his left _leg, _so that didn’t happen.

“Okay…ready?” Gil nodded, moving so that his arms were around him. Malcolm hesitated, still looking searchingly at the floor, like he was asking it to cooperate with this whole thing. “One…two…” he hesitated, but eventually just forced it out because he knew he would never be ready, “three!” Grimacing hard in preparation for it, Malcolm tried to stand up. Gil immediately helped, tightening his grip on him when he saw that Malcolm might not make it up all the way on his own.

But he did. Malcolm got up to his feet but immediately stumbled, his head rushing from changing positions too quickly. Gil immediately caught him from falling, supporting his weight and righting him before he had the chance to. “Thanks,” Malcolm gasped, trying to keep a hold on his walker and at least steady himself before he did anything else. It took a couple seconds to get his feet under him. He felt shaky and weak— the kind of weak you felt when you were sick and had spent the whole day in bed, only about ten times worse. His breathing was hitched and unsteady, but he shook himself, trying to ignore all those facts. Trying to just focus on what he was doing.

“You got it, kid?” Gil asked, gradually supporting him less and less.

Malcolm swayed a little, and his legs were aching, but he nodded fast. “Yeah,” he puffed. “Yeah— I’m fine. I just…wanna try and…” He took a small step forward, grimacing when he tried to force his left hand to curl harder around the walker. It was a baby step— barely a stumble, even. But he did it. Gil smiled huge at the accomplishment. Malcolm’s breathing was still just as unsteadily ragged as he took another one— a bigger one, with his right foot. Gil took every tiny step with him; Malcolm could see him practically doing flips with every tiny shuffle, but he reminded himself they were still only on the third one. Still…three wasn’t a bad number. Not _entirely._

It was the fourth step that did him in. He started to take it, until he stumbled, his leg giving out underneath him. He cried out as he tripped, fumbling to try and grab hold of the walker to keep himself from falling. Thankfully, that was what Gil was hovering over him for. The man quickly swept out and caught him before he could really get that far along. He grabbed him under the arms and easily hoisted him back up. “That’s okay, kid, that’s okay!” Malcolm breathed hard and fast, his heart thudding nearly out of his chest as he fought to recover. “You’re alright, just try again! You were doing well!”

_You’re doing well, you’re doing so well. _He was _sick _of hearing that phrase.

He grimaced, readjusting his hold on the walker and taking in a few fast, deep breaths. He took a couple seconds, breathing through them and reorienting, before he tried to take another step. _This _time, it didn’t even take more than one. The very second he was attempting to move his foot again, he was falling, this time losing grip of the walker completely and knocking it over. Gil cursed this time, catching him more clumsily and barely managing to save him from painful contact with the ground. Malcolm clung to him the second he felt his arms, gasping and scrabbling at him to ensure his safety.

Gil must have picked up on his panic— it would be hard not to, it was practically everywhere. “It’s okay— you’re alright, kid, I’ve got you,” he soothed, picking him up again. Holding him with one arm, he started to reach for the walker again, so he could drag it over. “We’ll just try again— you were almost there with—”

“No!” Malcolm gasped. Gil stopped short, surprised. Malcolm shook his head fast, refusing to look at him. “No, I’m done, help me back to the bed!”

“Are…are you sure?” Gil stuttered. “Bright, you were doing _so—” _

_“Don’t say it again, just help me back to the bed!” _he snapped before he could even finish.

Gil wilted, looking like he wanted to fight him. But with Bright staggering and stumbling just to stand upright, basically propping himself up against Gil so he wouldn’t fall, he knew it would be a losing battle. It was with regret that he started to turn them around. Malcolm clung to his arms tightly, terrified of falling again. Gil could feel how much his hands were shaking. The distance was just a regular step away from the bed, but the instant he was settling Malcolm down again, he was panting as if he’d run a race. Malcolm sagged back into the pillows, looking over at the walker on the ground. He closed his eyes, grimacing with disappointment as he turned away again.

He didn’t speak. Gil didn’t either.

It seemed they both didn’t know _what _to say.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jessica lingered at the end of the hallway, her hands wringing together as she paced. Every so often, she would stop and cast a glance down the hall, gnawing on the inside of her cheek. She agonized and waited, going back and forth, making a decision and then backtracking and double-guessing. She glanced at her wrist— it was almost noon. She allowed herself to flounder for just a couple more seconds, before she decided to just go. To move before she had the chance to consider it, so that she wouldn’t have the time to take it back.

She walked down to the study and knocked on the door. From inside, there was a quiet, sullen, ‘Come in.’ She armed herself with a smile before she walked inside, forcing herself to keep it when she looked at her son. Ainsley was drifting around the room, trying to busy herself with cleaning…she only did that when Malcolm was refusing to talk. It was clear there wasn’t anything really to do; she was currently reorganizing the bookshelf— a needless task. When she turned, Jessica could see the unease that was on her face.

She redirected her attention to her son, though, to make sure _he _didn’t notice it. If he hadn’t already. Grinning, she stepped inside, making her way to his bed. “Hello, darling.” He looked exhausted and worn. There were bags under his eyes that were impossible to ignore, and a dullness to them that had her heart wrenching. Still, she persisted with her smile, taking a seat at his side. “I was…wondering if you wanted anything to eat,” she forced herself to ask, feeling a certain kind of tug in the pit of her gut.

Her smile wavered and threatened to break, when she saw the tiny change in his expression. She noticed when he stiffened just the tiniest bit— when he inhaled a little too sharply through his nose. She remembered what he’d cried in the hospital, knowing that he had no recollection of it whatsoever. He started to open his mouth to answer; still feeling sick, she interjected, struggling to make it better somehow. To make it more appealing. What was she _supposed _to say, though? What could _possibly_ take away the connotation he was now forced to associate eating with? “It can be whatever you like, sweetheart— anything at all,” she tried. He wilted. She kept trying. “And it doesn’t have to be much…you could…even just have _sweets, _if you want.”

“I’m not hungry,” he mumbled; the answer she knew she was going to get.

Her smile dropped entirely. Before she tried to force it back on. “Are you certain, my love? You don’t want anything at all?”

He stared at her despondently. She got her answer, in his silence.

She ducked her head, nodding to herself a little as she let her smile fade. For a couple moments, it was silent. Ainsley wasn’t even trying to pretend she was still working on the bookshelf; she just stood there and watched, her eyes flickering carefully between the two of them. Jessica looked up again; her attention caught on the walker. She tried once more, bringing her smile back to life. “How about trying to walk?” she suggested. Malcolm closed his eyes, turning his head. She leaned out, trying to keep herself planted where he might see her, when he opened his eyes again. “Kristen and Erin said they wanted you to try walking at least five times a day,” she reminded him, trying to stay as gentle as she could. “And me and Ainsley are here to help you. You could knock out one of those five, if you like!”

“Not right now,” he grumbled.

Her eyebrows drew together. “Sweetheart…you _have _to _try…” _

_“Maybe later.”_ The words were very abrupt. A silent warning for her not to continue to pry.

She searched his face for a couple of moments, feeling a weight pressing down on her chest. Eventually, she forced herself to speak, murmuring quietly and slowly, like she was trying to feel her way across an active minefield. “Darling…I’m _worried _with the way you’re _going. _You’re not _eating, _or _sleeping…_and I know you don’t _like_ trying to walk again, but darling, if you give up now—” 

“I didn’t _give up, _Mother, I just—” He sighed out, short and fast. He reached up and rubbed his eyes. “I _just…_am _tired,” _he said thinly. “I just don’t want to do anything right _now. _I don’t want to _eat, _or _try to walk, I just…” _He looked down at himself, and her heart wrenched when she saw how disappointed he looked. His voice was just a tiny, defeated grumble, when he finished: “I just want to…_sit _here. ‘Cause that’s all I’m good at,” he grumbled under his breath, clearly not wanting her to have heard it.

Her eyes rounded out with sorrow. “…Honey…you’re—”

_“Mother. Enough.” _

She grimaced at the sharpness in his voice, immediately ducking her head and cutting herself off. Malcolm looked at her with an expression that was most likely supposed to be harsh, but instead, looked as though it was created out of popsicle sticks. Like a small breeze might come by and blow the entire thing down, if he wasn’t careful. It hurt to look at, head-on; it was why she was so quick to look away and _keep _her eyes averted. He glared at her as best he could, refusing to say anything else and just letting the snap hang in the air, instead.

She cleared her throat, her hands wringing together again when she looked up and forced the smile once more. “Alright,” she murmured eventually. “We can wait until later…” At least he didn’t fight, with this. He didn’t confirm or deny the statement, he just looked away from her with a tiny sigh. Jessica glanced over at Ainsley, still watching from the side of the room. Her daughter gave her a look as if to say ‘Keep going’ but she couldn’t bring herself to. She could see how close she was to upsetting him. That was the last thing she wanted to do. So she stood and turned, leaving the room the way she knew her son wanted her to.

Knowing she was backing down too easily and feeling her daughter’s eyes burn her on the way out.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“How’s he doin’?”

The question was asked casually, but it was an _artificial _kind of casual. He didn’t want her to know he cared.

Too bad she saw right through him.

JT was holding a coffee out to her when she looked up. Her eyebrows rose a little; she mumbled a ‘thank-you’ when she swapped her phone out for the hot cup. JT took the seat across from her as she took her first sip. “He’s…fine,” she sighed, leaning more on her elbows and just holding it between her hands. It was chillier out, today. The weather was gradually cooling off. JT eyed her, clearly waiting for more. She tilted her head to the side, taking in a slow breath. “It’s…been harder on him lately, I think,” she started to cave. “He’s always happy to see me, but when I go over there I can tell he hasn’t been sleeping, you know? Which…I guess is to be expected. It’s not like he slept a lot _before…_or _ate _a lot, before, either…”

JT still stared at her, like he was waiting for something else.

She shrugged one shoulder. “I think it’s been harder on him lately because of all the physical therapy.”

“It’s not going well?” he asked.

She shook her head, her expression growing more solemn. “His arm is coming along, but when it comes to walking…” She paused, before she just shrugged again. “It’s just hard on him. He doesn’t want to even _talk_ about it…I haven’t seen him actually try and walk. Every time I try and bring it up he avoids the topic. So does his mom and everyone else.”

“What, he gave up on it?” JT asked.

“I wouldn’t say _that, _he just—” Her phone vibrated and immediately, she was breaking off and looking down. JT couldn’t make out the message from where he was, but he had a fairly good idea of who had sent it. Dani softened a little and laughed under her breath. She was distracted for a moment; by the time she looked back up, JT was looking at her with raised eyebrows, expectant and knowing. She wiped her expression clean, shaking herself and grabbing her phone quickly. “Sorry, I have to— take this.” He said nothing; his eyes just tracked her as she went out, in such a rush she forgot her coffee on the table.

She left the room and shut the door behind her, leaving him sitting alone.

He let out a sigh, leaning back in the chair and studying the spot she had left.

Confused and thoughtful.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

When Louisa told him he had a ‘surprise visitor’ he initially thought it was Dani. It wouldn’t be _too _odd…she was over more and more, lately, though she _had _always texted him before she dropped by. He’d figured if it wasn’t Dani then it had to be Edrisa, which he wouldn't mind at all. So to say he was surprised to see JT walk into his study would be a _bit_ of an understatement. He jerked a little bit when he saw him, caught off-guard as he looked up from the book he’d been reading. JT himself looked a little awkward, but when their eyes met he offered a small smile. “Hey, Bright,” he said, stepping to the side as Louisa ducked back out of the room.

“Hi…JT,” he managed after a couple seconds of buffering. He set the book aside, not even bothering to mark his page. Truth be told, he hadn’t even absorbed half of what he’d been ‘reading.’ He hesitated, trying to read him as best he could. The last time JT had been here, something had been really wrong. He hadn’t seen so much as a text since then— Dani had mentioned him a few times and even said hello for him on occasion, but that was it. Now, all of a sudden, here he was.

A distinct sense of unease was crawling underneath his skin, and the question burst out before he could have enough of a filter to stop it. “Is something wrong?” Mentally, he was going through everything that could have brought him here. There was something about a case he needed help with— something was wrong with Gil, or Dani, or Edrisa. His heart practically stopped when he wondered whether or not it had to do with something related to the videos.

But JT just smiled wryly, starting into the room. “Your mom scared me off.” It sounded like he was only half-joking. “I kept thinking if I stopped by, she’d bite my head off.”

Malcolm cracked an unsure smile. “Well, you picked a good time, then,” he said. “It took forever but I eventually got her to leave the house for once. I feel bad, having her cooped up in here every single day.” He also_ didn’t, _because the idea of being alone was horrifying to him. He’d been trying to read to give himself something else to focus on other than the overwhelming silence. Hence, the him not even registering what he was reading, simply because his mind was going so fast. But it was also a trade-off to stop the constant efforts she made to get him to eat or sleep or walk. It was a lose-lose kind of situation. The sight of JT was an unnerving one, but it also brought him a pathetic amount of relief, just to have someone else in the room. “I made her promise to leave for at least thirty minutes. She’s probably timing every second.”

JT nodded a couple times. He stuffed his hands in his pockets when he asked, “How come you didn’t go along with her?” Malcolm’s smile faded. JT noticed. “You’ve been cooped up in here for who knows _how_ long. I might not be a ‘Bright Expert’ but I’ve never known you to be a person that enjoys sitting and twiddling their thumbs.”

He tried to bring his smile back to life, but he felt how forced it was. “I’ve gotten practice, recently,” he said, taking a bad jab at a joke. JT gave him a look; it didn’t stop him from finishing it. “Now I’ve gotten pretty good at it.” When JT didn’t react the way he wanted to, his smile died again. This time, he didn’t try to revive it. He looked down at his blankets, his voice quieter when he admitted: “She tried to offer it. But…I can’t even make it to the _door_, let alone outside.”

JT’s eyes flashed. He leaned against the siderail of Malcolm’s bed, fixing him with a look that was strangely stern. “What makes you say that?” Malcolm glanced at him but said nothing. He raised his eyebrows. “Have you _tried_ making it to the door?”

Malcolm scoffed, a sardonic smile twitching at his lips. He looked at JT like he expected him to be joking. JT continued to just stare at him. _“Yes,” _he said. “I _have.”_ He shook his head, his bitterness growing apparent now when he looked away again. “I couldn’t even make it past the _bed.” _

“Before you threw in the towel?” JT clarified.

Malcolm threw him a glare, this time— sharp, and cutting. “I didn’t _throw in the towel,” _he rejected. “I’m just— I’m _trying. _It’s _hard.”_

“Nobody said it was going to be easy,” JT reasoned. Malcolm said nothing. JT stared at him for a couple more seconds, before his eyes flashed. He turned around, his eyes roving throughout the room before they eventually landed on what he was looking for. Malcolm’s walker was leaning against the wall on his side of the room; he went and got it, unfolding it and marching back over to plant it at his bedside. Malcolm did a double-take, looking at him in confusion— like he was insane. JT just leaned on the equipment, looking at him with clear expectancy. A couple uncomfortable seconds passed in silence, before JT snapped: “C’mon.”

“Come on _what?” _

_“Come on, _you’re making it to the door,” JT defined. Malcolm still just stared at him oddly. “Dani told me you weren’t walking with physical therapy.” Malcolm opened his mouth to argue, but he wasn’t waiting to give him the chance. “So now you’re going to walk with _me.” _He leaned away, tapping the handles of the walker as he did. Malcolm stared at the thing like it had the plague. “So get up. Now. I don’t have all day— I told Tally I’d be home by five.”

“I’m not— …I don’t _want_ to—”

“If you don’t try, Bright, then it’ll never come back to you. So c’mon. We’re going to do this.”

He looked from him, to the door. His glare began to weaken. His voice was weaker, too, when he started to mumble: “I won’t…be able to make it…”

“Then we won’t make it,” JT dismissed with a shrug. Malcolm looked back at him, looking more and more wounded by the second. He told himself not to pay attention; this was what got everyone else bending to him: their pity. They didn’t want to press because they felt bad enough for him already. JT didn’t pity him. Not at all. That look wasn’t going to get anywhere with him. “But we’re going to make it as far as we can. So…for the _last time…_get your ass up. We’re going to walk.”

Malcolm hesitated for a few more seconds, clearly not wanting to. But he eventually caved. Unwilling in every sense of the word, Malcolm pushed his blankets off and twisted. He pushed himself to the edge of the bed and reached out to grab the walker. JT watched carefully, noticing when his left hand worked slower than his right. Automatically, he went to stand at his left, to make up for the deficit. Malcolm glanced at him and wilted a little, but he didn’t say anything. He just sat there for a few moments, trying to brace himself. Before he took in a deep breath and pushed himself to stand.

He was wobbly and unsteady; his initial push wasn’t enough and he started to fall. JT immediately grabbed him under the arm and hoisted him back up before he could. He steadied him and kept his grip, just in case. Malcolm’s eyes were wide as he stared at the floor, getting over the initial shock of his near-slip. JT gave him a couple seconds before he spoke. “See? You’ve got this.” Malcolm threw him a look. JT looked pointedly at the door, nodding towards it. “Now we have to get over there.”

Malcolm let out a breathless, humorless laugh. “Easy for you to say,” he puffed.

“You’re doing a lot of talking; not a lot of walking,” JT rivaled.

He threw him another glare, which he ignored. Taking a couple steadying breaths, Malcolm grimaced as he started to walk. Each step was slow, and just a tiny shuffle; JT met each one with his own that matched perfectly, still supporting him by his left side. He found himself counting every one that Malcolm managed. Five…six…seven… Malcolm stopped, breathing deeply and unevenly. He closed his eyes tightly, swaying a little. He looked up and saw that they weren’t even halfway there, and nearly buckled. He might have, if JT hadn’t been there. “Okay…okay that’s enough,” he breathed, his words shaking just as much as his arms were.

But JT was staying firm. “We’re not at the door yet.”

“You said we didn’t have to make it to the door,” Malcolm gasped.

“That was before I saw how good you can walk— you’ve got this.”

Malcolm took another step. He flinched and swallowed hard, shaking his head. “JT…I _can’t—” _

“‘Can’t’ isn’t in your vocabulary, Bright,” he refuted. “We’re not stopping.”

He seethed in frustration and desperation as he took another couple of steps. JT found himself having to support him more and more, the further along they went. They were a little over halfway there when Malcolm stumbled and fell again, with a tiny cry. JT caught him, but not before his knees hit the ground. Given how hard he was breathing and how strained he seemed, JT kept holding onto him, but he let him crouch there for now, to get his wind back. Malcolm’s head hung as he breathed in hard and fast. JT glanced from him to the door. “You’re doing—”

_“Do not. Say I am doing well,” _Malcolm hissed through clenched teeth.

“But you _are, _Bright. Look, we’re almost there—”

“I’m not going to _make it to the stupid door!” _he shouted, before he could finish. JT closed his eyes and sighed. He let him continue to yell. “This is the farthest I’ve _ever _made it— I’m _not _getting all the way to the door!”

“Why not?” JT asked patiently.

_“Because!” _he exploded, still ducked away. “Because I can’t take more than a couple steps at a time, because I can’t go fast, because I get dizzy— because I’m _weak!” _His voice broke on the last word. He cringed hard, his shoulders hunching. He curled inward, like he was hurt from something. “I’m weak and I can’t even stand by myself, let alone walk across a room! _That’s _why I can’t make it to the _stupid door!”_

“If this is the farthest you’ve ever made it, why are you stopping now?” JT pressed.

Malcolm opened his eyes, picking his head up and looking sorrowfully towards the doorway.

JT paused, staring at him hard for a couple seconds before he scooted a little closer, bending lower to be more by his ear. “You listen to me, Bright,” he said, his voice stiff and certain. Malcolm ducked his head again, closing his eyes tight. He didn’t say anything, though. “You went through _hell and back, _for a _year._ You survived things none of us could even _begin_ to understand. You’ve come all this way…and you’re going to let _this _be the thing that drags you down? You’re going to give up because it’s too _hard?” _Malcolm wilted, looking up again. _“That’s _not the Bright I know. The Bright _I _know would see this as just another thing to get over. The Bright _I _know would get up off this floor, and _walk to that door.” _

Malcolm hesitated, looking torn.

JT narrowed his eyes a little. _“Are you gonna let this beat you, Bright?”_ he asked, slower this time.

He weakened. His answer came slowly and softly. “…No…”

“What?” JT snapped. “I can’t hear you.”

_“No, _I’m not going to let it beat me,” he said, louder.

JT nodded. “So? What are you gonna do, then?”

Malcolm looked down at the floor, regathering himself. He took in a slow breath, closing his eyes. When he let it go, he lifted his head, looking back up at the walker. After a couple seconds, he reached up and grabbed to it again, grimacing briefly before he pulled himself up. JT helped him, hoisting him to his feet and steadying him when he wobbled. He took a couple seconds to get used to standing again before he started to walk. He walked with renewed energy, putting everything he could behind each step. His breathing turned ragged again, but he didn’t give up.

“C’mon…almost there…” JT reassured, glancing frequently between him and doorway as they went. Malcolm stumbled again but this time he was there to brace him up so he didn’t fall. He pushed him back up and shouldered more of his weight. “You’re _almost_ there, Bright, you’ve got this,” he reassured. Malcolm flinched but kept it up, continuing to walk. Inch by painstaking inch, they were getting closer. By now, Malcolm was shaking from head to toe. His breathing was fast and punctured with every staggering shuffle. They were getting to the point where he was more falling than walking. JT was having to help him more and more. But they were doing it— they were getting there.

It took them forever to reach the doorway. By the time they did, JT was taking practically all of Malcolm’s weight— but it wasn’t like the feat was difficult. The second they reached it, a beam was splitting over Malcolm’s face, and he started to laugh. He stumbled at the last second and lost his grip on his walker, but it was alright; JT was there to steady him. But his knees threatened to give way underneath him, so JT lowered them both to the floor.

He let go of Malcolm once they reached the ground. Malcolm immediately turned to sag against the wall, his breathing fast and shaky. But there was a breathless smile on his face when he looked at JT, his eyes gleaming with happiness and accomplishment. “I did it!” JT couldn’t keep his own smile off his face when he laughed and nodded a couple of times. Malcolm looked back at the bed, judging the distance again. Still breathing in pants, he commented off-handedly: “Huh…seems a lot closer when you’re not trying to get…from one side to the other.”

“But you did it,” JT said. “And now you’ve got no excuse. You can walk just fine— you just have to work at it.”

Malcolm stayed studying his bed for a couple moments, before he turned and looked at JT. He searched his face, his mouth halfway open as he looked for something to say. JT braced himself for something sappy— something he wouldn’t have an easy time with. But when Malcolm spoke, it wasn’t that at all. “Why is it…that whenever you come over…_something_ has to happen?” he panted. JT blinked in surprise at first, before he started to crack a grin. Malcolm was fast to beam even more. “What ever happened…to just stopping by…to say _hi?”_

“Maybe now I will, if you stop giving me _reasons _to come and help!”

Malcolm softened. His smile turned more heartfelt, and when he spoke next, his voice was just a murmur. “Thank you, JT…”

_Thanks for talking to me, JT…_

He waved it off. And answered both. “No problem.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Here is lucky chapter number thirteen!   
Thank you guys so much for your patience and your support! I've got a lot planned for this fic still, so we're getting the ball rolling in this chapter! I hope this chapter is just as good as the rest of them-- I've been going through some stuff lately and I've hit a big case of writer's block because of that. I'm hoping to get out of it here soon, but that's why this chapter took a bit longer than I initially thought it would. Again, thank you for all your guys' patience, it really does mean a lot to me. ♡  
I hope you all like this chapter, and I hope if you do I can hear from all you lovely people!

Malcolm woke up slowly, in hardly-there increments. Everything seemed warped…fuzzy…out of focus. Far away, like he was separated from himself. He was laying on his side, on the ground. _That _didn’t make sense, to him. He should be in a bed…had he fallen at some point in the night? He must have…rolled over and it hadn’t even woken him up. Every movement was stiff and robotic, a tiny groan escaping him as his head lolled to the side. “…Ainsley…” he tried to call out for his sister, who he knew should just be a couple feet away. She must not have heard him fall, either. And she must have still been asleep, because she didn’t answer.

He picked his head up, worming his eyes open and starting to blink out the fog shrouding him. “…Ains—?” He froze, her name dying on his tongue before he could make it all the way through. He stopped short. He’d started to roll over to try and see if he could see her through the gap between the bed and the floor. But there w_as _no bed. There was no bed, and there was no study. Malcolm found himself staring at absolutely nothing, on a floor that was stone, not hardwood. He’d frozen the instant he looked across the room and saw the wood paneling of the wall that was there. It was…wood…not the soft cream of the study…but…wood…

Malcolm stared at it with wide eyes, the sight not connecting. Or…it _was _connecting— but he just didn’t _want _it to connect. His breathing hitched, beginning to pick up as he stared at the paneling. He knew that paneling like the back of his hand. He had studied it for hours, memorizing the grain of the wood, tracing along it with his fingers. He _knew _that paneling, and once he knew that paneling, then he knew the floor he was laying on. He knew the dankness to the air, he knew the darkness of the basement. And as soon as the thought connected, he was snapping. His heart was racing, his breathing started to get fast…

A _basement…_he was in a _basement…_not the study.

Not just _a _basement, either. He was in…_the _basement.

Winston’s.

He jerked, flying to sit up as his eyes drilled for his ankle. The instant he saw the metal that was locked around him he was gasping in hard, scuttling backwards like he could run away from it. He pressed his back hard into the wall, like if he did it hard enough he might be able to melt through it and disappear entirely. His legs scrabbled at the ground until they pressed themselves hard against his chest; he curled up in a defensive, trembling ball, holding his head in his hands and staring at everything around him with panic that was only growing hotter and hotter.

The steps were the same— the camera— the camera was rolling in the corner, staring him down again. His eyes were huge, his entire body shaking like a leaf as he gasped hard in and out. He shook his head fast, his lips beginning to tremble as sobs broke through his hyperventilation. “No…no, no, no!” He sounded like he was two seconds away from throwing up— he _felt _like he was going to throw up. Where was the study!? Where was Mom, where was Ainsley!? He’d- he’d been at _home_, he’d fallen asleep with Ainsley right by him like he always did— how was he here!? How was he here _again!?_

“No, no, _no!” _he cried, cringing and ducking his head into his knees. He breathed hard and fast for a couple more moments, before he gasped in hard and picked his head up, shaking it just as much so. “It’s…it’s a dream!” he breathed to himself. “It’s a dream it _has_ to be it has to be a dream!” He reeled, whirling everywhere, looking at everything he could as if he was looking for a means of proving it was false. “I’m in bed I’m home I’m safe I just need to wake up— Ainsley, wake me up!” He started crying harder and harder, pressing his hands hard to either side of his head. He started to sob, all his speech turning into wailing cries as he started to beg. _“Ainsley, wake me up! Ainsley, please, wake me up, wake me up Ainsley, please! Please wake me up, right now!”_

There was sound from upstairs. Malcolm had memorized the sound of the door opening, and the footsteps that would soon follow after. He knew what it meant— it only got him screaming louder, at the top of his lungs. _“Ainsley! Ainsley wake me up!” _He curled up tighter, pressing himself against the wall more and more. He was hysterical, as he heard them get closer and closer— saw the door start to open at the top of the stairs. _“Ainsley!” _he sobbed. _“Ainsley please please Ainsley please help me please wake me up! Ainsley! Ainsley, plea—!”_

_“Malcolm!?” _He froze when he heard her cry out his name. His eyes went huge and at first he couldn’t move. But then the footsteps were reaching the landing. His head snapped up, horror already engulfing him even before he saw. But when he _did _see, it was all he could do to stay aware and not lose grip with everything completely. He sagged, like he was almost about to pass out when he saw Winston holding his sister. Her eyes were huge and terrified; he was holding her around the neck, practically choking her. Her hands and ankles were wrapped with duct tape. Before Malcolm could say or do anything, Winston threw her down the rest of the stairs. She made contact with a painful thud and rolled down the last couple of steps. She skidded on the ground with an agonized whimper.

Immediately, Malcolm was rushing over to her, crawling as fast as he could. _“Ainsley!” _

By the time he got to her she was sitting up, her expression pained. But still, she gasped a shaky: “I’m okay…!”

Winston surveyed them coldly for a second, before he turned and started back up the stairs.

Tears continued to roll down Malcolm’s face as he looked at his little sister— she was beaten and bloody. A thin slice was cut into her forehead. She looked worse for wear and terrified, but at least she was still alive. Blindly, he grabbed her and yanked her close, clinging to her as hard as he could. “What happened!?” he gasped, glancing back up the steps. “What happened, why are we here!? We were just home!”

Ainsley clung back to him, her voice choked with tears when she exhaled a terrified: “I have no idea, I don’t—”

_“Get off of me! Let me go!” _The both of them broke off and looked up at the same time. Malcolm went absolutely stiff, his eyes flying wider with shock and horror when he saw Winston dragging Jessica down towards them just like he’d dragged Ainsley. His mother was fighting tooth and nail for him to let go of her, but she didn’t stand a chance against him. Her hands and ankles were bound as well. Winston threw her down the stairs like he did Ainsley. She landed with just as painful a skid.

_“Mom!” _She didn’t dwell on her landing at all, once she heard both her children cry out for her at the same time. Winston started down towards them all but she wasn’t even glancing at him. She sat up quickly, rushing to shuffle over to her two kids despite the awkwardness. Malcolm could tell she was scared, he could tell that she was _terrified_, but she put on a brave face for them.

The moment she reached them, she was reaching up and tucking Ainsley’s hair behind her ear, shaking her head fast. She turned to Malcolm and held his face in her hands, like she always did. Her hands were trembling against his cheeks but she leaned in close and put their foreheads together, her voice low as she murmured to him. “It’s alright, my love, we’ll be alright.” Malcolm started crying again, shaking his head but too breathless with tears to argue against her. She drew her thumbs along his cheeks, her voice gentle as down but staying firm. “Everything will be okay my love, I’m here— I’m _here_, I’m going to protect you.”

“Well…isn’t this just _touching?”_ Winston mused. Immediately, Jessica was scowling and flaring with a fierce sense of protection. She shifted over so that she was sitting in front of her two children. Malcolm found himself clinging to her, practically hiding as he shook from head to toe and struggled to keep all his screaming inside. Ainsley was holding tight to the shoulder of his shirt, terrified into silence and motionlessness.

Winston looked at the three of them like they were a full course meal and he hadn’t eaten in days. His smile was sick and twisted, as his eyes went for Malcolm. “Here the family is…all back together! It’s sweet…” He took a couple steps closer. Malcolm whimpered— the sound immediately got Jessica flaring all the more, and yet it didn’t seem to matter to Winston in the slightest. His eyes didn’t move away from Malcolm’s. Malcolm found himself too frozen to break their eye contact. “You see— I told you there was only _one _way this ended, Malcolm,” he reminded him. “I wasn’t going to let anyone come between us and our goal. Not after _all _the work I put into you…

“Because…the thing is…you _thought…_you’d gotten away. You thought you’d beaten me…you thought everyone would see you as the winner— the _stronger _one.” He kept his smile but his eyes narrowed more, in a frightening clash that flipped Malcolm’s stomach. “But that just _isn’t true.” _Ainsley ducked her head into his shoulder, still clinging to him for dear life. He could hear her terrified breathing right in his ear. “And I thought to myself…_that’s _what the problem is! No matter _what _I did, I _couldn’t _seem to break you— nothing seemed to do the trick! Nothing pushed you over the edge! _But…_that’s just because I wasn’t _doing _the right _things._

“You’re not stronger than me, Malcolm Whitly,” he growled. “And I’m going to _show you _how you’re not stronger than I am.”

_“My son is _ten times as strong as you!” Jessica spat at him. _“He’s ten times the man you’ll ever be!”_

Winston looked at her, that wicked smile crawling back over his face. “Perfect…we’ll start with _you,” _he decided. Malcolm’s eyes went wide and hollow with horror half a second before Winston stooped down and grabbed his mother by the shoulders, wrenching her out of his arms before he could stop him. Immediately, Malcolm understood what was happening, and a desolate, furious scream ripped itself out of him. He started to scramble to reach out and grab her back, or at least try and keep her from him, but Winston was yanking his mother away out of reach of the chain. Malcolm was held back by his ankle, unable to stretch himself out any further to reach them.

_“No!” _Malcolm screamed, clawing at the ground, as if by getting enough leverage on the stone he might be able to break free. _“No, let her go! Let her go, she’s got nothing to do with this, leave her out of it! It’s me you want to hurt, not her!”_

Ainsley’s eyes were round with horror when she breathed: “Malcolm, what’s happening?”

“But that’s just the thing!” Winston rivaled, sounding energized and near euphoric. Like he’d just had some grand revelation. “I _do _want to hurt you— I want to _show you _what _true hurt is! _I’ve wanted to show you this entire time, what it felt like to go through what I did…when I could have just…_put you through it myself!” _Malcolm continued to scream, shaking his head mindlessly as tears streamed down his face. “So it’s actually a _good thing _you were found! That way I didn’t have to mess with tracking you all down…the protective mother…the scared little sister…” He gestured to Jessica and Ainsley, respectively. His smile curled a little more when he let his gaze fall to Malcolm very last. “…And the little boy…too powerless to do anything but _watch them _die…”

_“Stop it, stop it!” _Malcolm screamed. _“Don’t do this— I’ll do anything, you can do anything to me, just don’t touch them! Please!”_

Winston crouched down, grabbing a handful of Jessica’s hair and yanking her head back. “I’m going to do _everything _by the book,” he purred. He could hardly be heard over Malcolm’s insane begging. “And _trust me, Whitly, _I remember _everything _that happened. I’ll take you through it slowly…starting with the beating he gave my mother, right in front of us.” Malcolm barely had time to yell out before Winston was tightening his hold on Jessica’s hair and throwing her to the ground. Her head made painful contact with the ground; when he picked her up again, blood was already smearing across her forehead.

Her cry of pain was outmatched with Malcolm’s screech of rage and sorrow. _“Mom!” _he keened, wailing at the top of his lungs and pulling hard against the metal locking him to the floor. He hit her head another time, and then another; by the third, she was too out of it to scream. Malcolm, on the other hand, was only getting started. _“Mom! Stop it, stop it, please, let her go don’t do this! Don’t hurt her please don’t hurt her anymore!” _Winston’s lip curled with amusement as he let her fall to the ground. At once, Malcolm was laying down, stretching all the way out against his chain so that he might reach her.

He ended up being only a mere foot or two out of reach, from her. _“Mom! Mom!” _He started sobbing harder when she didn’t move. _“Mom, look at me, please Mom please look at me!” _Eventually, she did; slowly, moving at a painstaking pace, her head moved so she could see him. Once her eyes focused and she saw how close he was, her lips traced back into a drowsy, halfway-there smile. Malcolm cried when he saw the gash slicing through her forehead and the blood that was gushing from it. When she smiled, he could see blood trace down the side of her chin. _“Mom, I’m so sorry!” _he wailed, struggling and doing everything he could to touch her, and no avail. _“I’m sorry, this is all my fault, I’m so sorry!”_

She continued to smile despite his crazed apologies. Slowly, she reached out for him, her hands moving like she watched to hold his face again in them. She opened her mouth to speak and he saw how dark red it was dyed. Her voice was thin and raspy, practically hidden underneath all his sobs when she whispered a thin, fragile: “…My love…”

The very second this got out of her mouth, Winston was bending low again. Malcolm’s eyes flew wide and he scrambled up when he grabbed her by the back of the neck and forced her head back again. This time, he’d drawn his knife— he placed it threateningly over her throat, savoring every inch of Malcolm’s horror as he started screaming again. _“Stop! Stop, don’t hurt her! Please don’t hurt her anymore, don’t hurt my mom! Please, please don’t hurt my mom don’t hurt my mom!” _Winston grinned, starting to put pressure on the knife. Malcolm could see the blood perfectly, as if it was already bathing the floor. His screeching escalated in panic. _“Stop! Stop, don’t! Don’t, this isn’t how it happened! This isn’t how it happened, don’t kill her, please don’t kill her I’ll do anything! I’ll let you do anything please, please, pl— NO!”_

He screamed at the top of his lungs when he made the slice. When the blood sprayed everywhere. When his mother’s eyes rolled back into her head. When she was let go and she fell lifeless to the floor, the blood gushing out over the stone and painting it red. He screamed as loud as he could and he _kept _screaming, unable to do anything _but _screech and wail and cry that his mother was gone, that _he _was the reason she was gone, that _she _had died because of him and he would never see her again, never feel safe in her arms again, never hear her call him ‘my love’ or ‘my darling’ ever again, never have her fix his hair or kiss his forehead or tell him everything was going to be okay again because he’d _killed _her, he’d killed her, he’d killed her, he’d—

Malcolm woke up mid-scream, his throat burning and aching from how much he had already been crying out up until now. He went rigid, locking up with all the fear and terror that was left behind as his eyes went huge. He was stuck there, trembling, every breath a terrified gasp as his mind went absolutely blank, struggling to rush this way and that to figure out what had happened— what _was_ happening. _We’re all back there, we’re all trapped, Mom is dead he already killed her, I have to protect Ainsley— he’ll go after her next, I have to protect her I have to do whatever I can she has to live she’s all I have left._

He flinched when he realized there was someone in front of him; on impulse, his arms lashed out to smack them away. When they didn’t retreat immediately, he started hitting them faster and harder, yelling out as tears rushed to fill his eyes and run down his face. He cringed when he felt his hands find home a couple times; desperately, he tried to hit them even more, but before he could, suddenly his hands were retrained. He let out another scream when he felt his arms still against his will— when he felt pressure wrap around his hands. He started to panic all over again. If he couldn’t move his hands how was he going to protect Ainsley!?

“Malcolm!” His hands were being squeezed. He jerked, his breath hitching as he looked down. That’s when he noticed the pressure holding him still wasn’t that strong. It wasn’t like it was made of duct tape, or chains. His hands were being _held, _and while that at first made him panic, the _way _they were being held was making him stop. The hands weren’t rough or harsh, they weren’t digging into his wrists and planting his arms down. They were firm, but they were gentle and soft, at the same time. Their fingers were intertwined. When they squeezed, it was only so that he might actually notice their pressure, not to hurt him or restrain him further.

His harsh breathing stuttered when his head snapped up. He sobbed when he found himself looking right at Ainsley. She looked terrified and upset— overwhelmed almost, when their eyes met. Malcolm stared at her, his breathing fast and labored like he’d just finished running. When he recognized her, he was immediately scrabbling to cling tightly back to her, fear giving him the strength to hold tight enough to hurt. She grimaced but didn’t pull away. But there was strain in her voice when she tried to talk to him. “Malcolm— you’re okay, you’re home!

“You’re home, Mal, everything’s fine.” His eyes were still wild when he looked around them at the study. Confusion rushed to swamp his expression when he saw the familiar surroundings— his bedside table, the familiar cream walls, the bookshelf off to the side. He blinked rapidly, looking down at himself, painfully slow with connecting the dots. She softened sorrowfully. “It was just a dream,” she soothed. “That’s all it was…just a—”

His panic had been slowly ebbing but all of a sudden it flared all over again. He went into a small spasm, his eyes widening as he flew back at Ainsley, his grip retightening. She jumped a little, caught off-guard by the sudden change. When she looked into his eyes again, there was nothing but pure fear there to see. More tears rushed to fill his eyes and his lips started trembling so hard he had difficulty speaking when he started to stutter. _“M- where’s Mom?” _he whispered. Ainsley faltered, confused. He grabbed onto her even harder, yanking her closer, not thinking about anything other than his dream. He could still see her perfectly, blood pouring out of her slashed throat. He started crying, chin quivering and shoulders shaking. When she didn’t answer him, he pressed louder, harder: _“Ainsley, where’s Mom?”_

“Mom?” she echoed, still confused. “She’s— _here, _Malcolm, she’s fine.”

But he just shook his head— that wasn’t enough. _“Where’s Mom?” _he repeated, starting to fall prey to his panic all over again. She opened her mouth to try and say something, but he wasn’t listening anymore. Everything was tuning out into a static of fear. He wrenched his hands away from her so he could grab at her arms, at her shirt— anything he could get purchase on and yank her closer with. _“Where’s Mom?” _he pressed, his sobs only growing louder, only growing more desperate. Before Ainsley knew it, he was a sobbing mess, his lips shaking so hard it was difficult to understand him as he fell into a panic. _“Where’s Mom, where’s Mom where’s Mom where is she where’s Mom!?” _

Ainsley turned, looking over her shoulder desperately as she yelled: _“Mom!”_

It only took her a couple of seconds to rush into the room; she’d likely already been on her way before Ainsley called out. She’d been organizing breakfast when Malcolm had first started screaming. Ainsley had rushed away before she could, to try and take care of it. Obviously, she was doing a terrible job. Her mother’s eyes were huge with worry and sorrow when she rushed into the study, beelining straight for her two children. Malcolm was still in hysterics, clinging to Ainsley and practically shaking her as he just kept repeating his question over and over. _“Ainsley where’s Mom where is she!?” _he was sobbing.

Ainsley quickly set to work trying to get him off. She winced when he tried to fight her, just yanking on her harder. She muttered a fervent apology, practically prying his fingers off of her before she was able to stagger back away from him. The second she did, Jessica was rushing forward to fill in the gap, alarmed and confused but ready to do whatever she needed to get him to calm down. “Shhhh, _shhhh_— darling, it’s alright!” The instant Malcolm saw her, he was gasping in hard, scrambling to grab onto her just like he grabbed onto Ainsley. Jessica let him; when he gripped her arms tightly, she reached up to hold back to him, lovingly and gently.

She smiled, making sure there was no fear or startlement in her expression when she lowered down to be on his level. He still panicked, hyperventilating as he stared at her like a deer in headlights. She made her voice soft as a feather. “It’s okay, my love,” she soothed. His breath hitched at the term of endearment. More tears rushed to fill his eyes but this time it was a different kind of tears— she could tell. She melted. She reached up to hold his face in her hands, drawing her thumbs slowly along his cheekbones. “I’m right here; I’m fine…I’m right here with you,” she murmured, not sure why she was comforting him but knowing it was what he needed. “Don’t worry, my darling…everyone is safe.”

He stared at her with wide, stricken eyes before he started to crumble. His lips started shaking all over again and tears rushed down his face. He started crying again, just much weaker this time. “He— he killed you,” he sobbed. Jessica’s eyes widened a little, but she fought not to let too much emotion leak to the surface. She had to be strong for him. She had to be his rock. But it was hard to feel anything other than sick and infuriated when her son struggled on. “He killed you, you were _dead, _it was _my fault…” _

“Shhh,” she soothed again, shaking her head. She leaned closer, planting a little kiss on his forehead. She smoothed his hair back, smiling tenderly at him. “I’m just fine,” she told him. When he kept crying, she tried to press. “Darling— sweetheart, _look _at me. I’m just fine. _You’re _just fine…we’re _all _okay…nothing happened to us. We’re all safe. And he’s _far_ away. He can’t reach you here. He can’t hurt you anymore— he can’t hurt _any _of us. Okay?” Malcolm stared at her, still trying to catch his breath. She reached out and brushed his tears away. “I’m sorry, my darling…” she breathed. His expression wavered. She kissed his forehead again.

This time, when she kissed him, he reached up and wrapped his arms around the back of her neck. Immediately, she moved to sit on the edge of his bed, moving to hold him in her arms and hug him to her. Giving him all the support and security she knew he needed. He melted into her at once, sniffing and still breathing hard as he tightened his hold. She let him hug her as hard as he needed to; he let him _cry_ as long as he needed to. She let him get it out, hoping to herself that once he did, he would feel better— that once he did, he wouldn’t have to face it again.

But she knew that wasn’t how it worked— it was simply how she _wished _it would.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“They’re…usually all the same. Or…_not _the _same, _but…they’re all…about _him.” _Malcolm stared off into space as he spoke, finding that it was easier for him to make it through this when he did. He could feel Gabrielle’s eyes burning a hole through him; he tried not to focus too much on it. But then again, he didn’t want to focus on what he was saying, either. It seemed there was _nothing _he could focus on and remain safe. “Sometimes they’re memories, sometimes they’re…_not_…” He knew the question she was going to ask so he went ahead and answered it. “They can be about…him escaping…somehow, and…finding me. Taking me again.” He hated how small and fragile his voice was growing. He tried to strengthen it up more but he knew it was fighting a losing battle. “A lot of them are…about him hurting my family. My friends…”

Gabrielle nodded slowly. Once he trailed off and it was clear he wasn’t going to speak again, she leaned forward more, looking at him closely. “These dreams aren’t unusual to have, after the traumatic event you went through,” she said. He glanced at her. “It’s only natural for you to have these types of fears, these worries, that then manifest themselves into your dreams. And you’ve always had difficulty with nightmares as it is. Frankly, I would be confused if you _didn’t _face some sort of problem like this.

“But it seems you’re going about it the wrong way.” He frowned when she said this, but she just looked at him almost sternly, raising her eyebrows. “How many hours of sleep do you get a night, Malcolm?” she asked, and he was fast to look away again. This was an answer in itself, but she kept pressing. “How many hours did you get _last night?” _He knew what she wanted to hear— he knew that her standard was already low enough as it was. Before all of this, he usually got three, maybe _four_ hours of sleep a night, and he’d run on that, somehow. So she was _already _going in with a low number.

But _none _was actually the truth. _All_ night last night, he’d stayed awake. After that nightmare two days ago, he didn’t dare risk actually going to sleep again— the threat of a nightmare just as bad if not worse than that one was enough fuel to keep him from letting his eyes close for longer than a blink. He was absolutely exhausted and he could tell by the look she was fixing him with that his tiredness was more than apparent on the outside, as well.

Still looking at him sternly, she shook her head. “Avoiding sleep isn’t the answer, Malcolm.”

He offered a dry smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s the only answer _I_ could come up with.”

“Have you tried anything _other _than avoiding sleep?”

He pointed behind him on the wall. A little dreamcatcher had been pinned to place up there, courtesy of his brilliant little sister. His voice was bland when he said, “So far _that _hasn’t really done much good. Neither has the chamomile bubble bath, or the ‘relaxation’ tea she gives me.” He shook his head, letting his arm fall again. “I’ve tried every weird…_Pinterest_ idea she’s come up with; nothing works.” He would never tell her that, though; he’d told her he’d slept fine last night. The smile that had blossomed over her face was enough to let him know that that was the right thing, by lying. She did so much for him in her own way— there was no need to discourage her if he could help it.

“You should keep a journal,” she recommended. “Something to write everything down in. It would be a good medium for you…nobody else would have to read it, it would be entirely for you. You could write down…memories, _feelings_…whatever you need to.” He eyed her a little skeptically. “A lot of people find writing helpful to them. It’s a non-judgmental, totally safe space. You could keep it with you at all times so it’s there to help you when you need it…” She smiled. “I really think journaling might be exactly what you need right now.”

He cracked another humorless smile. “Journaling won’t keep my nightmares away. Or my memories from returning.”

“But it _will_ give you a good place to keep them, so they’re not pressing down on you and threatening to overflow,” she rivaled. “Right now, they’ve got nowhere to go. Doing this could give you an outlet…perhaps it would keep them from running so constantly through your head, if they had somewhere else to go.” He tilted his head to the side, not exactly finding a way to argue against it. “Do you think you could at least give it a try?” He hesitated, but shrugged a shoulder and nodded. He might as well. It wasn’t a lot of commitment, but it was getting her smiling at once. “Good…that’s _good, _Malcolm…that you’re not giving up— that you’re willing to try other means when others don’t work. That bodes for a good recovery. A _healthy _one.”

He put on a smile, and nodded. Trying not to feel too much frustration over the fact that there had to be any recovery at _all_.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“I regret this…_so_ much…”

“You’re almost _there, _though! Look at you go, you’re like Speed Racer!”

“I’ll do without the patronizing compliments,” he gasped. “I’m like a turtle.”

“Slow and steady wins the race, Debbie Downer,” Ainsley snapped, matching him step for step. They were walking down the hall together, Malcolm staggering every so often with his walker and Ainsley with her arms cautiously hovering near him just in case he fell. They were about halfway down the hall by now; it was certainly the farthest Malcolm had ever walked so far, and he was _certainly _starting to feel it. He felt like his legs were toothpicks and they were going to snap underneath his weight. But he was doing his best to power through it…they were trying to get to the den. Which was a very tall order for him, but he was going to try.

At least _there, _there would be a couch for him to fall on.

“You’re doing _awesome, _Mal, look how far we’ve gotten!” Ainsley cheered after they trekked a little more.

“Yeah…” he puffed. “I just— …might need to…take a break…” He was getting dizzy.

She frowned, looking at him a little closer. “You okay, Mal?”

He was about to reply when there was a delighted shriek. They’d reached the foyer, finally; Jessica had been walking in from the den; when she saw them she was immediately ecstatic. She clasped her hands over her mouth but not before Malcolm saw how big her beam was; she looked two seconds away from starting to do flips, when she saw her son actually out of bed— _this far _out of bed. She’d known they were walking but she obviously hadn’t anticipated him making it this far. That made two of them, between her and Malcolm.

“Look at you!” she gasped, rushing over to Malcolm, who took the moment – very gratefully – to stop and catch his breath. She was brimming with pride and happiness as she looked him over, putting her hands on his cheeks. Malcolm was wearing a look halfway between a grimace and a smile, one eye closed as he wobbled on his walker. She melted, looking at him and tilting her head to the side as she drew her thumbs along his cheeks. “My son…the _fighter_,” she gushed.

_This _got Malcolm smiling just a little bit more. Warming.

With the help of the two of them – because he really _was _about to collapse out of sheer exhaustion – he made it down into the den and to the couch. By the time they reached it, they were supporting most of his weight. He fell into the couch in a heap, muttering a soft apology that they immediately refuted. Every one of his muscles was aching and burning from their overuse. Multiple daily walks to the door and back had gotten easier for him…he’d flown a little too close to the sun, thinking he was okay to get all the way out here. The bite was a bit too much, but he’d at least made it. Now, there was just the worry of getting _back. _

But that was for later. For right now, Ainsley was bounding back to him, her eyes bright and her hands clutching a deck of cards. “Alright!” she chirped, waggling her eyebrows at him as she took a seat across from him, the table situated between. She started to shuffle, eager and excited. “So…I say we start with some _Poker. _Let’s see if you still _suck _at it.”

“I don’t _suck _at Poker,” Malcolm rivaled, still getting his breath back.

She threw him a ‘Really?’ look. “Your Poker face _sucks_, Mal.”

“I have a _great _Poker face!” The statement came out indignant.

She shook her head, starting to deal. “Maybe I just know you too well,” she snickered.

“You’re mean to me,” he exhaled, grimacing a little as he leaned forward more.

She laughed, rolling her eyes as she settled in. They played three games, all of which Ainsley seemed to win. They played Eights and Rummy— they even played Slapjack, which Malcolm was _especially _horrible at. The entire time, Malcolm’s eyes gradually grew heavier and heavier. He’d already been exhausted from a lack of sleep, but after walking all this way, he was _physically _exhausted, too. He felt like he’d been drained of every last scrap of energy he could possibly have. Even moving his arm to put a card out felt like he was moving a fifty pound weight.

By the time Ainsley set up a game of Solitaire for him, he’d sagged so that he was laying on the couch, rather than sitting. She set the whole game up and was playing a happy audience, watching intently as he moved cards around. The entire time they’d played, Jessica was milling in and out of the den, her eyes soft as she glanced at her children. Now, she stopped short, realizing how exhausted Malcolm looked. His eyes were half-lidded as he worked to keep playing the game. She opened her mouth to say something to Ainsley, but she looked at her and realized she knew perfectly well how tired he was getting.

Ainsley was regarding him carefully, watching his movements grow more and more sluggish, and his eyes get duller and duller. A couple times, his eyes drifted closed, and she expected him to finally cave and fall asleep, but he would always manage to pry them open again. He reached out and grabbed a nine, putting it on the seven— Ainsley’s eyes flickered between him and the deck. She entertained the idea of just letting him continue on like that. But then she pointed out, correcting him, “That card can’t go there, Mal.”

He blinked slowly, dragging his head up more. “Wha…why not…?” He reached out and picked it up again, seeing the seven underneath. He sighed, dropping his head again like his neck had gone limp. “Oh…hmm…” He just set the nine aside like it ceased to exist, going instead to grab from the deck again. Ainsley didn’t say anything this time. Malcolm’s eyes closed when he put a two on the ten. When he grabbed a five from one deck and moved it to the two on the other, his face was cleared and numb.

Ainsley eyed his cards, opening her mouth to tell him he had really lost control of this game, when his arm suddenly dropped, laid across the table. Mid-reach, he passed out, the blackness yanking him underneath it entirely.

He finally lost the battle on staying awake.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Gil barely had the time to walk into the house before he was being told to be quiet. “Shhh!” He stopped short, surprised and confused at first. He was getting back later than usual, but it was still only just now 9:30. Usually everyone was still up by now, especially with Malcolm’s new certainty to never sleep. On impulse, he wondered if something was wrong; but when he started into the house more, he realized what Jessica was fearful of.

Malcolm was curled up, fast asleep on the couch. His arms were tucked up to himself underneath the blanket that had been draped over him. Jessica was sitting on the floor beside him, where she’d made an entire bed. It looked like she’d been sitting there reading a book when Gil had walked in; now, she was setting it aside, getting up from her spot and, not without casting frequent glances back at her son, going over to Gil.

She put her hand on his elbow and led him back into the foyer. She kept her voice to a whisper so low, Gil could barely hear her himself. “He finally fell asleep this afternoon…” Which was a rarity in itself for him; especially now, it was a miracle he was sleeping for more than a couple hours at a time, let alone a handful. “It’s been a couple days since he last slept…it was bound to catch up to him eventually.”

Gil suddenly realized something, lighting up as he asked, “He’s out here?”

Jessica glanced at him, and then softened when she saw the look on his face, adopting her own, happily proud one. “Yes…that was what did him in, I think. He exhausted himself, but he made it all the way from the study. He only needed our help for the last little bit.” Gil smiled even more at the thought. The two stood together in silence, both smiling with affection and relief as they looked at Malcolm, sleeping peacefully on the couch. There was a long stretch of silence, before Jessica murmured under her breath: “He’s doing so _well…_it takes so much out of him, but…he doesn’t quit.”

Gil warmed. “Yeah…he’s always been a fighter…”

Her eyes flashed; she blinked a couple times, before she turned and looked at him. She seemed hesitant, but after a moment she asked: “Were you…just stopping by…? Or were you…planning on taking the guest room again?” He looked at her, confused. She waved dismissively, clearing her throat and looking away when she offered: “I have some bourbon, sitting around…if you don’t have any other plans.” Gil was shocked into silence; he said nothing. After a couple seconds, she seemed to draw her own conclusions from the quiet. “If you have other plans, it’s alright, I was just…going to have some myself— if you wanted some, too.”

“No! No, it’s—” They both broke off when he said this a little too fast and a little too loud. In sync, they looked over at Malcolm, dreading waking him. But he just shifted, sighing in his sleep as he turned his head a little bit. Once he knew he wasn’t going to rouse, Gil spoke again, wincing apologetically. “No, that…sounds great, actually. As long as you’ll…have me,” he said, ending awkwardly. This came out of left field— she’d been warming up to him little by little again, but to offer this was a big step.

She just smiled and left to fetch it. He decided to stay in the foyer, to reduce the risk of waking up Malcolm. She was back in a couple minutes, with glasses and a bottle. Gil poured a drink for the both of them, and they exchanged slightly awkward smiles as they clinked them together in a tiny cheers. Things were silent between them for their first few sips, before Gil eventually got up enough strength to break the silence, yet still making sure to keep his voice low. “So…he was alright, today? Nothing happened?” Going to work was the bane of his existence; he just spent the entire day wondering if something was wrong. Sometimes he cracked, and he would text Ainsley. She was the only one he could really count on not immediately dismissing him.

She shook her head. “No…he ate a little breakfast this morning, which was…which was good…” Her eyes flashed and she took another drink, before she shook her head and ripped her thoughts away. “He walked out to the den with Ainsley around noon, they played cards together for a couple hours…” She softened. “It’s so nice…just to see them together…” She glanced at Gil, hesitating before she confessed in a quieter voice: “I had…started to think I’d never see it again.” Gil wilted, sobering. She was quiet for a couple seconds, before she shrugged her shoulder and shook her head. “It’s just nice,” she murmured, looking back towards her son in the other room. “To have it back.”

Gil searched her face, quiet at first. He looked down at his glass before he took another drink. He steeled himself by taking in a larger-than-normal breath, before he spoke. “Jessica…” She looked at him, her face falling. He closed one eye in a tiny grimace. Shifted his weight a little. Subtle, small signs of anxiety. But he had to get it out. It had been too long. “I’m…sorry, Jessica…” She opened her mouth, but he was sweeping on before she could say anything. “I’m sorry for this entire thing…I should have known—”

“Gil—”

_“I should have known,” _he broke through. He looked at her head-on, and in the face of his stare she was silenced. Gil’s shoulders were braced like he was trying to hold up some giant weight. He looked at the floor, shaking his head. “I should have known. From the very beginning,” he whispered. “I should have thought of Malcolm being right in his line of fire…the very _second _he didn’t come into work that day, it occurred.” Jessica wilted. “It occurred too late.” He looked at her again, heavily, with aching regret. “I brought him on the case,” he admitted. “I worked it with him for _ages, _not even…_dreaming _that something like that might happen to him. It was my fault he was taken. And it was my fault we didn’t get there quick enough when he managed to call me. You were right…you were right about all of it.”

Jessica stared at him, her gaze just as weighted. For a while, she was silent, not daring to speak. When she eventually did, her voice was quiet and subdued. _“Nobody…_could have dreamt this would happen.” Gil perked, more confused than anything else. She focused on her drink again, finding it easier. “If…_Malcolm…_of all people couldn’t tell what was going to happen…then how could anyone else?” She looked up, but looked towards her son, her expression filled with heartache. She tightened her hold on her glass. “It was my fault, too,” she murmured. “My fault for…marrying Martin…for not giving him a better life after everything that happened…” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Maybe that’s why I liked to blame you so much…it took the blame away from me. Where it belonged.”

“You couldn’t have—”

“And neither could you have,” she interjected. She looked at him and held his gaze. Slowly, Gil closed his mouth, taking the rest of what he was going to say back. She smiled bitterly and shook her head. _“Neither_ of us knew,” she whispered brokenly. “And neither of us could have seen what was going to happen. Not to Malcolm.” For a while they just stood there and stared at one another in silence— heavy, weighted silence. Jessica was the one to eventually rip her eyes away; she turned back to her son. Her expression crowded with sorrow again. “All that matters…is that it _happened_. And that we’re here for him now. Where he needs us to be.”

Gil was silent, looking between Jessica and Malcolm. He ducked his head, studying his bourbon and swishing it around in the glass before he picked his head back up. He nodded a couple times. “You’re right,” he said. She glanced at him, and he smiled at her. “You’re absolutely right. That’s all that matters.” She nodded, too. Again, they were left to search the other’s face, none too sure on what they were supposed to say next. Gil was about to take a stab at it, when there was a sudden noise off to the side. Tiny and quiet, but noticeable in the absolute silence.

Jessica was spun around. Malcolm was shifting more on the couch, his arms and legs tucking tighter to himself like he was trying to curl away from something. The tiny noise had been a little whimper. His forehead was beginning to crease, his eyebrows pulling together. Jessica was immediately shaking her head, turning and thrusting her drink at Gil to take before she was rushing back into the den. Gil trailed after her, standing in the entryway and watching as she dropped to her knees, going on her son’s level.

“Shhh…” She reached out and gently, with a feather-light touch, began to draw her hand through his hair. Malcolm continued to fuss, turning in his sleep and whimpering again. She leaned down and planted a kiss on his head, just as light. “Shhh…shhh…” He was beginning to tense, but as she continued to stroke through his hair and murmur to him, he started to calm back down. Without waking up, he began to still. Jessica drew away, relieved when she saw his expression clear and relax back into peaceful sleep.

She stayed there for a couple seconds, her hand lingering in his hair. Then she stood, turning back to Gil and looking regretfully at the drinks he held. “I’d better stay…” she murmured. “Just in case…he usually has a couple of these close together…”

“No, no, I get it. I understand,” he breathed. “Don’t worry. It was…” He trailed off. She looked back up at him; he offered her a tiny smile. “It was nice. To talk. Again.”

She surveyed him for a split second before she smiled back at him and gave a little nod. “It was.” She looked back at Malcolm, her eyes flashing when he turned a little again. But he was just shifting; he fell still afterwards, a heavy sigh puffing out of him. She relaxed, but only marginally. “Hopefully, he stays asleep…he needs it so badly…” Her voice was more sorrowful when she murmured, mostly to herself: “He deserves to rest…”

Gil wilted, looking down at him. But he softened quickly, a small smile tracing over his face. “He’s the strongest person I’ve ever known,” he announced quietly.

She perked, looking back at him. She followed his gaze and looked down at her son.

She was fast to melt. “Yes…he is,” she whispered. Proud. Happy. Loving. Relieved.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“You guys really didn’t have to do this.” He sounded embarrassed, but he also sounded happy. And the smile on his face spoke volumes as to what he wasn’t saying.

The entire team was clustered together in his study. JT was standing off to the side, his hands shoved into his pockets. Gil was sitting where he usually did at Malcolm’s bedside. Dani and Edrisa were standing on the other side of the bed, Edrisa with a large stuffed teddy bear with a ‘Get Well Soon’ heart cradled in its arms. Dani had been much less robust with her gift— it was just a simple cup of Earl Gray, and yet that had made Malcolm light up, for some reason JT wasn’t too sure of. Edrisa hadn’t been to see Malcolm since his stint in the hospital; it was very important to her that she give him this bear. For some reason.

“But I appreciate the gesture,” he added, pausing a moment before he tacked on: “The bear is a nice touch.”

Edrisa looked over the moon. “The bear was my idea!”

This made Malcolm crack an even bigger smile. “Ah…I would have thought it was JT’s.”

JT scoffed loudly, from where he stood.

“So how are you getting along?” Dani prompted, setting his tea down for him, which he immediately reached out just to hold in his hands. “Word on the street is you’re getting around better.”

He brightened. “Yeah…yeah, I’m…‘doing laps’ as Ainsley calls it.” He glanced at JT but his eyes were fast to go back to Dani as he smiled. “It’s getting easier. I’m working on it.” Dani smiled at him. JT thought about asking him whether he was _sleeping— _dude looked like he’d been awake the past two weeks straight. But Dani seemed satisfied and he wasn’t going to bring anything like that up himself. He knew Bright as it _was_ with sleep; it was probably a touchy subject for him. But at least _this one _was self-limiting one. It’d sort itself out one way or another.

As Malcolm and Dani smiled at each other there was a burst of silence that, for everyone else at least, and _especially_ for JT, was very awkward. Edrisa apparently took it upon herself to break that silence. Very loudly. _“Oh, _Bright!” He jumped a little at the sudden cry, but after that split second of shock, he wiped the tension off his face and looked at her. JT noticed he tried a little too hard to smile, as if that might make up for his startle. Edrisa wilted apologetically for a heartbeat, apparently having noticed it too. But she rushed on, choosing not to say anything, based on the look he was attempting to wear. Instead, she smiled eagerly, leaning closer in her excitement. “You’ll _never_ guess what turned up the other day,” she tempted.

Malcolm raised his eyebrows, not understanding what she was meaning.

Gil sat up a little straighter in the chair.

_This _Edrisa didn’t notice. “A body missing its head _and _its right hand!” she gushed, like she was talking about which flavor of ice cream was best. Malcolm’s forced smile dropped. He blinked rapidly as his face fell; he didn’t say anything, he just stared at her in silence. But JT saw when the little color he had, drained away from his face. Edrisa apparently didn’t. She rushed on, eager to spurt out every little detail. “We’ve been going in circles for _days, _trying to come up with why the killer would keep _just those two _body parts— it’s _weird, _isn’t it?”

Gil looked at Malcolm and stiffened when he saw how withdrawn he was slowly becoming. He was stiffening more and more, his hands beginning their telltale shakes. “Edrisa…” he warned, hoping he wouldn’t have to say anything more.

But she was too invested. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought to myself: ‘Bright would know if he was here!’” Malcolm wilted. “Because you _do _the weird cases, right? That’s your whole _thing. _It’s what you’re _amazing _at— it’s your gift!” His shoulders were beginning to hunch.

“Edrisa,” Gil repeated, a little louder.

“So what do you think? The body was _completely_ clean of any other injuries— there wasn’t any blood under the fingernails, there weren’t so much as a _scratch _anywhere else, which is even _stranger _considering the fact that—”

_“Edrisa.” _This time, Gil spoke right over her, cutting through whatever she was about to say. She broke off, surprised and a little affronted at first. But then she looked at Malcolm again – _really _looked at him – and realized her mistake. He was much stiffer than he’d been just a couple seconds ago, his eyes crowded with an emotion that was much too hard to place. He was holding so tight to the blanket that by now, his knuckles were bleached white. His hands had grown to tremble violently.

The silence came back. Swallowed everything completely.

Dani looked at Malcolm with wide, concerned eyes. Her mouth was halfway open; she was fumbling for something to say, but nothing was coming out. It was probably a good thing…already, Malcolm was coming back to himself, and realizing what had happened. Self-consciousness began to dawn over him as he looked at Edrisa, frozen mid-speech and currently blanking. He blinked rapidly, trying to shake himself out of it and play it off. “I’m— I’m sorry…Edrisa, it’s…it’s _fine_, I just…” JT looked down at his hands again— they were still shaking just as bad. That apprehension stayed on his face, too, despite his words. “It’s…just…I wasn’t…” He couldn’t get a single sentence out. His anxiety was building.

Dani cut in. “It’s fine, Bright,” She shot a glance over at Edrisa— not angry, just warning her that she shouldn’t go on. Guilt swamped her, but Edrisa understood, muttering a rushed apology as she looked down at the ground, abashed. Malcolm looked even more upset when he saw her reaction— when he saw what _his _slip-up had done to her. They could all read the apology there that he wanted to give, but they could also see all the anxiety and fear that was blocking him from doing so. It was bordering on the edge of overwhelming. He ducked his head away and tried to fight all _that_ off, first.

JT’s stomach tugged as he watched him try to calm himself down. It was _wrong_— him getting so put-off simply by _listening_ to a case. Before he left, cases like these were what he _lived_ for. He would always light up in that strange, creepy way, with stuff like this. A year ago, if he’d been given this case, he would have probably thought it was _Christmas_. Now, he couldn’t even really _look_ at any of them. His eyes were trained down to the blankets, now, his expression staying pinched and embarrassed. His shoulders hunched, like he was trying to curl away from them.

“Sorry…” he breathed eventually, the apology sounding small and defeated. “I’m not…I guess I just…”

Gil was fast to shoot it down. “Don’t apologize, Bright. We understand.”

Malcolm said nothing, but his eyebrows knitted a little more. Like he was confused by something.

The air was rife with tension, now. Everyone was looking at each other, at a loss for what to say because it was so unexpected, and so _not him. _Edrisa looked like she was close to tears. Malcolm was cringing and refusing to meet any of their stares. _Everything_ in the room was a testament to what had happened— there was no avoiding it. And the silence wasn’t making it any easier.

_Don’t let this be long. _The thought was sudden and unexpected, but it occurred to JT out of the blue. Once it did, he grabbed onto it. He hoped this wouldn’t be long. He hoped that it wasn’t permanent— that it was temporary. He hoped that soon, he would go right back to being annoying and irritating and weird, just like he’d been before he’d been kidnapped. That he would be rushing out the door, walker-free, bright-eyed and ready to solve the cases that had other people stumped— scratching their heads. He hoped that soon, he’d be bugging the crap out of him again.

He hoped that soon, they would have their old Bright back on their team, where he belonged.

Because, after everything, he knew it was what he deserved.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The silence was earsplitting. Deafening. It crawled underneath his skin and itched and burned; he tried to ignore it, but it was demanding to be noticed. Ainsley had been in his study warding off this silence for most of the morning, but yet another phone call had drawn her away. That had been only a few sparse seconds ago, and yet it was long enough for him to already start to unravel. Sitting there in the silence reminded him of the endless hours he would spend doing absolutely nothing— too injured, too sick, to do anything but sit or lay there and stare. It reminded him of all the hours spent in dread for whatever torture or abuse would be waiting for him…his heart pounding faster and faster with every inch the shadows around him grew, because he knew the later it got, the closer it was to when Winston would come back. And who _knew_ what would be waiting for him, then.

How many hours did he spend in total, in absolute trembling fear? Shaking and crying, wishing he could have someone there with him— _anyone. _Crying when he thought of how many times he’d waved his mother off irritably, dismissing all her attempts to help him, to show him affection, when that was all he wanted, in that moment? Sobbing when he thought of Gil and where he might be right now— at the prospect that he had moved onto another case and had left his long behind. Staying up all throughout the night because he was terrified of waking up and seeing that Winston had made true on his promise, and had brought Ainsley to be tortured as well.

Though he was in a drastically different situation, in a drastically different room…though he was safe and warm and content and cared for, he _knew_…this silence felt the exact same as it had then. It was getting his hands shaking, his lips trembling. Every single second was putting another brick on his chest, making it more and more difficult to breathe properly. He started fidgeting, shrugging his shoulders as if he could roll the weight off, to no avail. He tried to snap himself out of it, but that was just a fruitless. It had already taken root in his brain; now, all it was doing was seeping into it more and more. Spreading, like a plague.

_It’s fine, everything is fine…Ainsley is just outside, I’m safe, it’s _different…

But his heart still pounded, hard against his chest. Getting louder and louder.

He still shook. Worse and worse.

In the back of his mind, he could hear…_his _voice. Winston’s— just a low, sneering growl.

_But what if you _aren’t?

His phone rang. The instant he heard the shrill ring, a rush of panic was going through him. He whirled around, his eyes huge as he looked at the device, blood roaring in his ears. He was so rooted in shock that at first he couldn’t move at all; he just stared at it stupidly, like he didn’t know how telephones worked. Thankfully, he snapped out of it, though when he reached out and picked it up, his hand shook like a leaf.

He frowned when he saw the Caller ID. Hesitated for a second before he answered. “Hello?”

“Bright.” JT’s voice was more akin to a tired sigh than it usually was. “It’s JT.”

“Hey.” He glanced out after Ainsley, his forehead creasing. “What’s…wrong?”

He remembered what he’d said before. _What ever happened to just stopping by to say hi?_

He waited for him to wave it off. To remember that too, and make some joke about how, oh, nothing, he just wanted to check in…

But he didn’t. And his voice was just as strained when he said: “I have to talk to you about something.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“…Staring at it isn’t going to make it any easier, Mal.”

“I know.”

“…Do you…wanna talk about it? First? It might…help you get some ideas…?”

Malcolm didn’t reply. He stayed staring at Ainsley’s laptop, his expression heavy enough to weigh a million pounds. He’d asked for the laptop because he knew that with how much he was shaking, attempting to write with a pencil would make nothing but chicken scratch. He assumed that, at the very least, a victim’s impact statement was meant to be _legible. _Otherwise how in the world was the judge supposed to read it and use it to help make the decision about sentencing? But then again, he wouldn’t know…this was the first time he’s been on _this _side of things. The first time he’s been faced with this impossible task: to somehow, write out something that could possibly convey what he had gone through in that hell, and what he was still dealing with, now.

JT had made it sound so simple. ‘Just write what you want. Something about…what you went through. About what it meant to you. It doesn’t have to be much, it’s just…something that might help.’

It _wasn’t_ that simple. At all.

He’d been staring at this screen for thirty minutes, now. Unable to so much as _touch_ the keyboard.

He caught Ainsley’s eye. She was sitting on the end of his bed, sorrowful and remorseful. When the silence stretched further and she realized that he wasn’t going to say anything, she wilted even more. “I’m sorry, Mal…” she murmured. He looked at the screen again, just so he would have something else to focus on. She tilted her head to the side, looking between him and the computer. She sounded more apologetic when she asked in a murmur, “Would it be better for you if I left?”

He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly and shakily. He shook his head once. “No, it’s…just…” His voice was barely audible. His voice splintered and cracked in its foundation when he confessed a weak: “I just…don’t know what to _say…_there’s…there’s just nothing I could…_say _that would…” When he opened his eyes again, they were shiny with unshed tears. Tears that spoke not only of endless torment and suffering, but tears that spoke of frustration, too. It was impossible to tell which was more dominant. He looked at Ainsley and forced out: “There’s nothing I could say that could possibly _explain_. That could even _begin _to…”

Ainsley’s reply was immediate. “I know. I understand, Mal. And I’m sorry.”

He just shrugged, shaking his head as he looked back at the word document. Empty. Bare.

She hesitated, before she tried: “Maybe you can just look at it…as a _start?” _

He said nothing. The look on his face grew just a little more strained. And the knot in the pit of his stomach tied just a little tighter.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

‘To whom it may concern,

My name is Malcolm Bright. I was a profiling consultant on the Winston Price case before’

He deleted all of it. He tried again.

‘I was asked to write you this statement, of which I hope will help to shed light on’

He deleted it all again. Tried again.

‘I find it difficult to write you this statement, because’

Backspace. Backspace, backspace, backspace.

He groaned, leaning forward and holding his head in his hands, closing his eyes hard.

This was _impossible_. He looked over to the side. Ainsley had taken the night off; she was upstairs probably getting the first true night of sleep since they’d gotten home from the hospital. His mother had automatically set up a bed on the floor for herself without even asking if that was what he wanted her to do. He was grateful for that…_guilty…_but grateful. She’d intended to stay up with him as he tried – once again – to write, but she’d started nodding off a while ago. She was still sitting up, and her book was still in her lap, however her eyes were closed and her head was dipped low to her chest. He stared at her dismally for a couple seconds before he turned back to the laptop and the once-again-blank document, staring dully at the time. It was nearly two in the morning. And he _still_ hadn’t gotten anything done.

“Stupid…” he breathed to himself, shaking his head and sitting back more in the bed.

_Stupid. You’re _stupid. _Useless, worthless…_that’s _why nobody’s coming for you._

He cringed as Winston’s voice rang in the back of his head again.

He tried to ignore it, shaking his head like he could physically shrug the voice away from him. He tried to direct his focus and keep it there. He _had _to finish this; he _had _to get this done. It would help with the sentencing— it would help this entire nightmare reach its end faster. He wasn’t writing to Winston, he wasn’t writing to anybody that he would ever actually _see— _he was writing to a stranger. A stranger was all they were. He didn’t know their face, he didn’t know how much they already pitied him, he didn’t know how much they would pity him _after _reading this; he would _never_ know. He would never see the end result of this letter, _so why was it so difficult to write?_

_Because _you _haven’t come to terms with all that’s happened to you. _

He flinched, cringing away from the voice. A bitter taste started to bathe his tongue. His heart was already beginning to beat faster. Hovering over the keyboard, his hands were beginning to tremble. He kept his eyes closed tightly, for fear of what he would see if he opened them again. He could hear the voice just as clearly as if Winston was standing in the room himself. Like he was actually there, in that moment. He could _picture _him perfectly, standing in the dark corner of the room, that sickening, disgusting smile spreading over his face— that red light of the camera glaring into the dark, staring at him just as intently as he was. He was terrified of _actually _seeing it.

_You don’t know _half _of what I did to you… _Winston hissed. _All you have is jumbled, sliced-apart memories. Instances that don’t fit together, things that don’t make sense. If you don’t know what happened to you, how are you supposed to tell someone _else _what happened to you? _Malcolm pressed his lips together tighter, beginning to shake all over, not just in his hands. Satisfaction and smugness began to leak into Winston’s voice. _Or maybe it’s because you can’t face _any _of it. Maybe you can’t bring yourself to write anything down because by doing that, you’ll make it permanent. Not that it matters, _he added, slyer. _You know every little second is recorded. It’s al_ready_ permanent, Whitly… _

“Stop…” he whispered under his breath. Hs eyebrows were knitting more and more, a strained grimace setting over his face. He could feel his lips shaking, despite how much he was trying to keep them from doing so. “_Stop_ it, go away…”

_But I _can’t _go away, _he hissed. _I’m a _part_ of you, now. I’ll _always _be a part of you, just like you’ll _always _be my victim. And _that’s_ why you don’t want to write your stupid little letter. You don’t want to spend five pages telling someone how _pathetic_ you are. You don’t want to go through that mountain of memories in your head and sort through which ones make you sound the most injured— the weakest, the most like a classic, suffering victim. Which ones are you thinking of? Which ones are you dragging out, that will ultimately just drag up _more_, for you?_

His eyes began to sting. His expression started to crumble as he tried to clench his hands tight.

It sounded like the voice was getting closer. Like Winston was creeping nearer to him, slow by slow, savoring step. _Write about the time I hung you by your arms for two days, _he encouraged. Malcolm started to tuck in tighter to himself, his chin beginning to quiver right with along with his lips. _Talk about all the times you contemplated bashing your head in against the steps just to have a sense of peace. Talk about how I’d put duct tape over your mouth and keep water from you for days until you were delirious. _

Malcolm pressed his hands against his ears, but they did nothing to silence him. Winston just kept going, more energized with every single thing that he listed. _Or you could write about the time we played Would You Rather, and you held your hand over that open flame for a full minute. You could write about how pretty soon you didn’t even cry anymore, when you were hurt…you just kind of stared off into space, like nothing mattered, even after I broke your arm. _He snickered. _Write about all the times you would wake up from a dream where you were happy and safe at home…and started to scream and cry, when you realized where you actually were. I think _those _would come across as pathetic. _

“Leave me alone…leave me _alone…please…” _

_‘Please’…as if that _ever _got you _anywhere. _You see, _that’s _why you can’t write anything, Whitly, _he snarled. _Because in order to write it, you would have to _face _it. And _you _can’t do that. You’re too weak, to face it all. You can’t write this statement because you’re not _strong enough to.

_“Stop it…” _

_You’re _spineless. _A _coward. _You were pathetic when I had you and you’re still pathetic now._

_“Stop…!”_

_You want people to see you as strong, you listened to JT when he fed you that bullshit about how every time he saw you he doesn’t automatically see every inch of those videos— but people don’t see you that way because you’re _not. _They see you for who you really are— who _I made you become, and who you will always be!

_“Stop!”_

“Malcolm?” He flinched when he heard her voice. He whirled around, his eyes wide and terrified. His mother was already pushing herself up to her feet, but when she saw how distressed he was, she was rushing faster. His breath coming in uneven gasps, Malcolm turned and forced himself to do a quick survey of the room, looking around at every inch. But it was empty. Winston wasn’t there— there was no camera, rolling continuously. He started to unclench just a little bit, though the stiffness stayed in his shoulders.

“Malcolm?” his mother asked again, coming to the edge of his bed and seeing how much he was shaking. Her expression was wrought with worry as she looked him up and down. Slowly, she put her hand on his shoulder. At first he tensed even more, but after a moment and some careful concentration, he forced himself to relax. From there, she wrapped her arm around both his shoulders, sitting closer to him. “Darling, what’s wrong?”

He looked at her stupidly, like he forgot how to speak. Words escaped him as he blinked and felt a tear run down the side of his face.

He was blank as the document was, still sitting in front of him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“I don’t know what to say,” Malcolm murmured. “There’s just…too _much.”_

“You don’t have to say it all,” Dani reassured. “Just some will be enough.”

“Yeah, but that’s the problem; I don’t know _which _of that _some _would be enough.” He was laying on his side, curled up to the phone, resting on the mattress beside him. It was on speakerphone and turned down some. It broke the silence of the room, and filled it with something, instead. Dani couldn’t come and visit today, but she offered to make up for it by calling on her way home. It felt strange— Malcolm almost apologized to her, thinking she saw him as some obligation. But she quickly and swiftly told him to ‘Shut up or I’ll come all the way over there purely to kick you.’

“It’s hard…” he confessed. “It’s hard just to think of it _myself…_let alone write it.”

“You don’t _have _to write it, Bright,” she reminded. “You don’t owe anyone anything.”

“I _feel_ like I do, though,” he whispered.

There was a pause. “I guess it’s to be expected,” she murmured eventually. “But…Bright, you’re gonna drive yourself crazy, thinking like that.” Her voice lowered a little. “You might have been the only one to survive, but that doesn’t put any responsibility on your shoulders. You know?” He wilted, curling up a little more. His silence must have let her know everything she needed to know. “This recovery is about _you._ If you think about everyone else, you’ll get nowhere.”

He pulled the blanket tighter around himself. He was silent for ages, before it got to be too much. It fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. “I feel guilty…sometimes…” A _lot _of the time…

Dani digested it for a couple moments. Her voice was gentler, when she spoke next. “I can’t imagine what it feels like, Bright…”

“It feels lonely,” he confessed softly.

“Write that,” she encouraged. When Malcolm said nothing, she must have realized it wasn’t enough. “I know it’s not much…but you have everyone here for you,” she reminded. “You’re not alone— not at all. I know sometimes it feels that way, but…you’re not, Bright.” There was another pause, before she repeated: “I know it’s not much.”

He smiled, just a little. “It is,” he murmured. “It _is _a lot. Thank you.”

He could hear the smile in her voice when she returned, “You’re welcome.” There was a small burst of silence that was actually comfortable for once, before she broke it again. “I don’t know if I’ve said it before…but that night…when we got the call?” Malcolm’s smile faded. He shifted just a little bit closer. “I couldn’t believe it. The _entire _drive there, _all _I did was tell myself that it _wasn’t _you, that it _couldn’t _be you, just because I knew that if we _did _get there and it turned out to _not _be you…I wouldn’t be able to handle it. It was so surreal, and sudden…I think it took about a week for it to sink in that you were really there— that you were _really _there, _alive._

“And…I mean, the shock has gone away by now, but sometimes, when you call me, or when you text me and I see your name on my phone…for a while I was trying to come to terms with the fact that I was never going to see that again. You know?” He said nothing, the quiet between them much soberer. She cleared her throat before she started again, trying to brace her voice up more. “And I’m sure everyone else is the same way. So…just…_think _about that, next time you start to feel guilty. That you have a lot of people around you that would be worse off if you hadn’t come home.” She hesitated, before she added: “I know I wouldn’t know what to do with myself, if my best friend never came back.”

He brightened, perking up just a little. “Best friend?” he echoed, his voice small.

She was quiet for a couple seconds. “Well…_yeah…” _But the way she said it sounded very unsure.

Slowly, Malcolm warmed. “I didn’t realize I was your best friend.”

_“One of them,” _she corrected quickly, but it didn’t take away the smile from his face. There was another pause, before she added, stiffer: “I sent the memo to you; it must have gotten lost in the mail.”

He laughed a little. She did too.

“Okay. Well, I have to go,” she said abruptly. “Sappy time is over.”

“Okay,” he murmured. “Goodbye, Dani.”

“Goodbye, Bright.”

There was a little click, as she hung up. The silence came back.

But this time, the silence was a little less bad.

This time, Malcolm kept his smile despite it.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

‘To whom it may concern,

I’ve tried to start this letter a dozen different ways. None of them ever seemed right. I’ve never written a letter like this before. And I hope you’ll forgive me for making it a letter…I find it much easier writing this as a letter than I do a statement. Most of the time, I’m on the opposite side of all of this. I haven’t had much practice being on this side, though the practice I’ve had has been more than enough, at this point. But I digress, and I’m stalling. I tend to do both.

Any means of introduction are pointless. You know who I am and I know who you are. You are the person who will be sentencing the man that held me captive for a year of my life, and in order to do that, you need this letter. You need me to tell you what he did to me in gruesome, personal detail, and you need me to tell you he needs to rot in jail for the rest of his life and never see the light of day again. I don’t know how much power I hold in your decision, or if you’ve already made one and this is merely a formality. But I do know that this is something that needs to be done.

I would say that I hope I do it justice, but I know I won’t. I know for a fact that no matter how many things I tell you, no matter how many horror stories I share, it still wouldn’t be enough to even come close to what that year was like for me. Nothing I could possibly say would even begin to scratch the surface of the fear, the pain, the loneliness, because it is simply inhuman. No human being should have to even try to wrap their head around what I went through, and yet now I am being asked to put it into words, on a sheet of paper. It’s simply not possible.

I could tell you horror stories. No doubt you’ve seen at least a portion of the videos he took of me, documenting every last one. I could tell you how he’d starve me for weeks. I could tell you what I had to do any time I wanted to eat. I could tell you how he broke every finger in my hand one by one, or how he would threaten nearly every day to bring my family there and harm them as well. I could tell you how he whipped me, or how often he would tell me nobody was ever going to find me and how I would die alone and scared. I could tell you how many times I considered ending it all, just because I thought it was my only way out at that point.

I could tell you all of that and more. And believe me, I have a lot more.

But you know that already. And that’s not the important part.

The important part is how I am typing this letter, because my hands are shaking too much to even hold a pencil, let alone write with it. The important part is how I haven’t slept for the past two days because every time I close my eyes, I find myself back with him, unable to escape again. How writing up to this point has taken me four hours because I’ve had to ward off a new panic attack with every memory I write down. How my family sleeps in the same room as me to try and make me feel safer, yet I still have dreams of them being killed or me being taken from them again. How I can’t eat anything anymore.

I can recover from the physical aspect, and I am. It’s a feat to announce I can walk around my house, even if it’s with the help of a walker. My arm is coming along slowly; I can almost curl it into just as tight a fist as I can my right one. The wounds on my back have healed completely. It’s the rest of it that’s the difficult part. The constant nightmares, the constant flashbacks; those are what’s not as simple. My family does everything they possibly can to make things better and easier for me, and yet I still think to myself sometimes that nobody loves me, because he engrained it so far into my head. I catch myself panicking over nothing, or berating myself the way he did because I’m so used to it.

I see him and I hear him, no matter where I am. And I don’t know how long that will stay.

I am home and yet sometimes I don’t feel that way. I still don’t feel safe from him.

And I am not the only victim. I’m just the only one that can write a letter to you. What he did to all those other people, and what he took away from those families, he should have to answer for as well. They’re the important part, too. Just because they died doesn’t take away the suffering he put them through. Kaelyn Foster, Bennett Rogers, Marvin Thompson, and Amelia Hull. They deserve to be just as answered for as I do. The families that lost those will never recover from that loss. In some way, it will always be with them. Just like, in some way, my year of captivity will always remain with me.

I’m not going to make a recommendation on his sentence. I know that, likely, you’ve already made your decision regardless. I only hope that what he receives in turn will stay with him just as much. I hope he learns from this. I hope he sees what he did, and how wrong it was. I hope he will never hurt anyone else the way he hurt me and all the others. That’s all I can hope, at this point. I hope this letter meant something. Thank you for your time. 

Sincerely,

Malcolm Wh-’

Backspace. Backspace.

‘Bright.’

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The second his phone rang, he was answering. Concern spiking off of him.

“Jessica?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

She didn’t answer him. “It’s tomorrow.” The two words were flat.

He hesitated, taking a second to digest the meaning. Slowly, his shoulders drooped. When he spoke next, his voice was much tenser, and more tired. “Yeah…it is.”

“I want to come.” Just as resolute. As firm.

He did a double-take. “Jessica…are you sure? That…might not be a good id—”

_“I want to come,”_ she repeated, harder.

He sat with the insistence, feeling a pit open up in his stomach. But he knew he couldn’t argue. It wasn’t like he could tell her no. “Okay,” he said eventually, ducking his head. “Sure…I could…meet you there if you—”

“I have a favor to ask,” she cut through.

“Of course,” he said at once. “Anything.”

“It’s not for you,” she dismissed. “Is Dani there?”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was like Malcolm was six and Jessica was leaving to go on a night out, rushing to leave everything she possibly could for the babysitter. “Malcolm has my number— if you need to call for _anything, do not hesitate; don’t_ let him tell you otherwise. If something happens and he says it’s not worth calling me over: call me over it.” He watched her mill around the room, getting her bag and double-checking everything was in order, disgruntled and scowling even more at this comment. “His box of medication is over here by the door— the schedule is here just in case, but he knows it by now. Emergency numbers are written down by it, too. I shouldn’t be gone more than a couple hours, so hopefully nothing happens but just in _case _it does and I don’t answer my phone, Gil should—”

_“Mother you’re being insufferable,” _Malcolm hissed, only getting more and more mortified the more she spoke.

She shot him a sharp look. “I am being _thorough,” _she snapped. “If Dani is going to be the only one here—”

_“Louisa _will be here!” Malcolm objected.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Oh, and we saw how well that went _last time.” _

He groaned, hanging his head. He shot Dani a look, and she immediately had to keep herself from laughing. Seeing this, he cracked a little too— if not just because the entire situation was so ridiculous. He looked back at his mother, trying to wipe his smile off. “Mother, I _promise_ you, we are _just _going to sit here the _entire _time. You are going to get back here and we are going to be sitting _right here. _Having used _none _of your numbers or tips or tricks.”

Her look only soured. She marched over to him and, still very cross, bent to give him a kiss on the top of his head. “I will be back _soon.”_

He recoiled, glancing fast at Dani before looking back at his mother, going bright red. _“Mom.” _

She turned, rushing for the door as she glanced at her watch. She stopped just long enough to say a quick ‘Thank-you’ to Dani, making it seem even _more _like this was some babysitting gig, before she was out the door and down the hall. Dani watched her go; now that she wasn’t in the room, she wasn’t trying to hold back her smile. When she turned back to Malcolm she was wearing a full-fledged one, that only got wider when he flushed with even more embarrassment. “You know, I think your mom might be my favorite Whitly,” she announced.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Well she’s made it pretty clear that you’re _her_ favorite, recently.”

“I wouldn’t say _that,” _she said. “I think she kinda likes _you, _too.” He smirked and she did too as she went over to take her usual spot at his bedside. “Or you’re at least pretty up there,” she added, crossing her legs and grinning at him. He laughed and nodded. They sat together for a couple moments in silence, before he glanced up after the spot his mother had disappeared. His eyes flashed, and his smile faded. Dani noticed at once, her own smile dropping. But before she could ask what was wrong, he was speaking up. His voice that sullen guarded it always was when he was trying not to show his real feelings about something.

“So…you drew the short straw?” he murmured.

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

He looked at her, searching her face, like he was testing her out for lies. It was a long beat of silence before he brought himself to speak, just barely. “It’s today…isn’t it?” Dani crossed her arms over her chest, a little uncomfortably. She said nothing, just staring at him head-on. He tilted his head to the side. “I don’t have a TV in here for a reason, I think,” he mused, still in that sad little way of his. “My mother said she was going out _shopping…_when a couple days ago I had to beg her just to take a _walk _outside. When Ainsley left for work this morning, she could barely look at me. I sent that statement in a couple days ago…it’s today. Isn’t it?” He hesitated, before he clarified a weak: “His sentencing.”

He expected some reluctance. But her answer came pretty fast. “Yeah. It is,” she said, her voice steady and unaffected. As if they were talking about something simple like the weather.

His stomach twisted. He sat with the information for a heartbeat before he swallowed dryly and nodded his head. He looked down at the blankets, slowly curling his hands into them more, to pretend they weren’t shaking. “Ah…” He chewed on his lower lip, taking in a slow breath and letting out just as gradually. Eventually, he cracked a humorless, bitter smile. “Nobody wanted to tell me…” He looked at her, his eyes flashing as his smile dropped. He looked much more cynical when he said: “And you got the short end of the stick…you’re the only one that doesn’t get to go, I bet.”

“I didn’t _wanna_ go,” she said, sounded just as unbothered.

A bit of reproach leaked into his gaze. “C’mon…of course you want to be there.”

“I _don’t_,” she argued. “I’d rather be here with you.” He perked, looking unsure. She shrugged one shoulder. “It’s _important…_but it’s going to happen whether I’m there or not. And especially if _you’re _not there…what do I owe him to be sitting there in the crowd? Everyone else wanted to be there for their own reasons, and that’s fine.” She smiled, tipping her head towards him. “But _you’re _who I owe something to. When I found out nobody was going to be here with you, I was going to offer to come _anyway; _I didn’t need to be _asked.” _

He looked at her for a couple moments before he started to soften. For a couple moments, they held one another’s gaze in silence, both smiling. Malcolm chest felt warm, when he looked at her. Eventually, he cleared his throat, waving dismissively and taking on a more joking tone when he said, “Well, obviously _not, _because my mother is your favorite Whitly.”

Dani’s smile just grew. “You’re not a Whitly,” she rivaled softly. “You’re a Bright.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_Her son clung to her, sobbing into her shoulder, where his head was ducked. She held him securely in her arms, rubbing his back and trying her best to soothe him. She walked as quick as she could until she made it to the bathroom, setting him down on the counter before she delved into the medicine cabinet. She snuck a glance at her little boy as she did, wilting in sympathy when she saw the rip in his knee. It was bleeding a lot— that was probably part of the reason why he was crying so much. _

_“I’m sorry, darling,” she cooed, grabbing some tissue so she could press it against the wound. The second she was touching it, he was flinching and crying harder, tears rushing down his little face. She mopped away the blood, making sure it was clean and dry before she put the bandage on. Through the entire process, he’d slowly begun to calm down, sniffling and gasping more than he sobbed as he watched her intently. When she put the band-aid on, he stopped all the way, just staring tearfully down at it. _

_“There, my love…does that feel better?” she asked. He sniffled but nodded his head. _

_She smiled, beginning to grab him up in her arms again, before he was objecting shrilly._

_“No!” She stopped short. His eyes welled up a bit more when he sniffled, “You gotta kiss it.” _

_She was quick to soften. Jessica stooped down low and planted a feather-light kiss to the top of his bandage. Immediately, he was smiling, quieting all the way. She was warm with affection when she bundled him up in her arms, giving his cheek a little kiss too, when she turned and walked out of the bathroom. He immediately reached up to wrap his arms around her neck, leaning his head so he could rest it on her shoulder. She held him tight enough to make him feel snug and secure. Letting him know that he was safe and cared for. _

_And that when he was with her, he wouldn’t get hurt. That she would make it better._

“Jess.” She jumped, at the hiss of her name. She turned quickly, to see that the rest of the team had already sat down. She rushed to follow them, being one of the last people in the room to do so. Gil had been the one to whisper to her, but when she glanced at him, he wasn’t looking at her anymore. His eyes were fixated straight ahead, where everyone else’s eyes were. There was nothing to see in his eyes but muted fury. She imagined if she were to reach out and put her hand between his eyes and their target, it would burst into flames. She turned back front, swallowing back her own anger, bitter as bile and hot as fire, when her eyes went forward again.

She had seen photos of the man that hurt her son. How could she _not, _with the media coverage that this whole ordeal had. But she had never been in the same _room _as him before. Now…all of a sudden, she was. All of a sudden the man that had taken her baby was sitting mere _feet_ from her. She saw red, over everything else— she could hardly remember how to _breathe, _staring at the back of his head. Ainsley was sitting on her other side; her daughter was just as stiff and tense. Together, they seemed like they were ready to leap up at a moment’s notice. JT and Edrisa were sitting on the other end. JT’s arms were crossed and his stare was blazing just as fiercely as Gil’s was. Edrisa looked like she was biting back tears.

Everything was like radio static; Jessica could hear taking, but she wasn’t _registering _it. Staring a hole through Winston’s head, Jessica’s teeth gritted and ground together as she thought of how her son had looked when she had first seen him, after his emergency surgery. How skin and bones, how gory, breathing artificially through a tube that had been stuffed down his throat. All she could think of was how terrified he had looked when he’d first woken up— how he was too scared to do anything but whimper or cry or scream if someone so much as looked in his direction. How he woke up mere hours after going to sleep, screaming from some kind of nightmare, without fail.

Her fingernails were digging down hard into her knees. The pain of it was what brought her back.

“State your full name,” the judge was ordering, once everything came back into tune.

He answered. His voice was dull. Empty. It set her teeth on edge. “Winston Thomas Price.”

Gil’s eyes narrowed even more. His own nails were digging into his palms.

“Could you state your age, please?” the judge continued.

“Forty-five.”

“And your level of education?”

“High school.”

The judge looked down at him carefully, as though he was under a microscope. “Are you fully alert at this time? Not under the influence of drugs or alcohol?”

“Yes,” he murmured.

She picked up a paper lying in front of her, displaying it for him to see. “And is this _your_ signature on this original plea agreement?”

“Yes.”

“Did you consult with your attorneys before you signed it? Are you aware of what this entails?”

“Yes.”

She nodded. “You are pleading guilty today to your indictment, of which you’ve discussed with your attorneys?” He nodded back to her. “You have been charged with the kidnapping, rape, assault, and murder of Kaelyn Foster, all in the first-degree. You have been charged with the first-degree kidnaping, assaults and murders of Bennet Rogers and Marvin Thompson. You have been charged with the kidnapping, assault and murder of Amelia Hull, an eight-year-old child. And you have been charged with the first-degree kidnapping, first-degree assault, and first-degree rape of Malcolm Bright. Do you understand these charges and their implications? And that if I grant this plea of guilty, you will automatically be convicted of these felonies?”

“I understand,” he returned. Blank. Apathetic.

Jessica had stiffened immediately, and yet when she actually _heard_ her son’s name, heard it connect with those vile, awful things, it was made absolutely permanent. She closed her eyes, a choking sound dying in the back of her throat. Gil had stiffened himself at the charges, but when he heard her tiny cry, he was immediately turning and wilting at the sight of Jessica. Her head was bent low, her hand clutching at her chest. Tears were fast to start rolling down her face. Ainsley was brushing her own away and scooted closer to her with a little sniff, reaching out and taking her other hand in hers. Immediately, Jessica was clinging back to her as hard as she could.

The judge continued on in her brisk, business-like tone. Always looking up only to eye Winston carefully. “And you understand that in the state of New York, first-degree murder is a minimum of 25 years? You understand that first-degree kidnapping is punishable by up to 20 years? And you understand that first-degree rape stands with the maximum sentencing of 25 years, yes?”

“Yes,” he murmured.

“I will ask you one more time, just for the record: how do you plead to these charges?”

His answer came at once. “Guilty.” No remorse. No sorrow. No regret.

The judge nodded slowly. She looked around the courtroom. “Does anybody have any closing remarks?” she invited.

Silence followed the offer. Jessica was trying to get herself back up control— to take in a deep breath and wipe her eyes and bring back that stoic look she had managed to hold onto up until this point. But she was distracted by the sound of sniffing. At first, she thought it was Ainsley, but she was glaring at Winston, her tears silent and furious. Jessica frowned when she realized the sound was coming from somewhere behind her. She twisted, looking over her shoulder and spying her a couple rows back— a woman with long blonde hair.

She was crying hard into her hands; it looked like she was trying to stifle herself, but she couldn’t manage to hold back a heavy sob or two. There was a man sitting beside her. Tears were streaming down his face but he was holding himself together, his expression impassive as he kept an arm around her. She had been crying like this the entire time. JT had mentioned them at the beginning, after they’d sat down; they were Amelia Hull’s parents. Adoptive parents…but parents all the same.

Jessica found herself disarmed, when her eyes fell on the couple— when they lingered mostly on the mother as she sobbed quietly to herself. Her heart twisted and her stomach flipped when she realized that that just as easily could have been _her_, right now. She had come _so close _to losing her child, just like they had lost theirs. If Malcolm wasn’t such a fighter, if they hadn’t found him the very _second_ they had, she could very well be the crying, bereaved mother in the courtroom. Sobbing at all of life’s unfairness.

It made her sick just to think about— a world where her son did not exist. It was a nightmare.

These people were living that nightmare right now. The nightmare she had _barely _avoided.

A harrowing feeling was seated in the pit of her stomach as she continued to stare and imagine. What it would have been like to have her son’s mutilated corpse found in some forest somewhere, just waiting for someone to stumble upon. What it would have been like to actually have to plan that funeral— to _attend _it. To bury her son and know that Winston had won. She was so preoccupied, by the time she came back to herself, the judge was continuing. It was her voice that managed to bring her back to the present— had her turning back around, fresh tears having welled up in her eyes.

“Winston Price, the damage you have done to your victims – those who have died, and the one that is still living – is senseless and irreversible. I see in you no regret…no _guilt_ for what you have done. You are coldhearted, and a danger to society. The atrocities you committed and put your victims through are horrific and unimaginable. Hearing the accounts of their injuries and their suffering sickens me, just as it sickens me to look at you. You voiced before, that you have no remorse for what you have done. I sincerely hope that one day you will.”

She paused, looking back down at the paper in front of her. She took in a slow breath and let it out just as slowly. “It’s my finding that the defendant, Winston Thomas Price, knowingly, voluntarily, and intelligently, entered a plea of guilty to the felony charges of this indictment. At this time, I will accept his plea of guilty on the terms of his plea agreement. Winston Thomas Price shall be sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole.” Edrisa sighed out loudly, deflating like a balloon and holding her head in her hands. Gil’s breath caught. Ainsley held tighter to her mother’s hand. “Under the terms of this agreement, the defendant, Winston Price, knowingly waived his right to appeal the sentence I have imposed. He has also waived his right to challenge that sentence in a collateral manner. If there are no further questions or complaints, this court is adjourned.”

There was a mumbling of ‘thank-you’s from the attorneys that were gathered. The judge stood and turned to leave. Just as soon as it had begun…it was over. It didn’t seem right. That after all this trouble, all this pain that her son had gone through…it was taken care of in less than an hour. Ainsley let go of her hand, her expression wracked with regret as she murmured a quick, “Wait for me to go home.” Jessica nodded without taking her eyes off of Winston as her daughter rushed away to meet up with the camera crew, glancing over her shoulder the entire way at the man that had just been convicted.

None of the others rose, yet. Edrisa was the only one that seemed lightened by this. JT and Gil’s expressions were still stony with hatred and contempt as they just sat and stared at Winston, who was beginning to get up and be led away. Jessica’s hands curled into tight fists as she watched him just as closely. Her lips were pressed together so hard they were almost shaking. In getting up, he turned a little bit, facing more towards her as she caught a glimpse of his face.

Maybe that was what did it— seeing his face and knowing it was the face that plagued her son’s nightmares. Knowing it was the only face he had seen for more than a year. Knowing that _still_, on that face, there was no emotion at all, and certainly no remorse. Looking at him, you would think nothing had even happened. Maybe that was the fact that pushed her over the edge. But _whatever_ it was that snapped her, _did_. Before she could stop herself she was shooting up to her feet, everyone’s eyes growing to be twice their normal size when she snarled out at him: “You’re a _monster!” _

Winston stopped short, turning to face her fully, which made her flare even more.

Gil was fast to stand up, grabbing onto her wrist and pulling her a little closer as he warned: _“Jess.”_

She shrugged him off, wrenching her arm away from him. Scowling with enough poison to kill, Jessica barged past him so she could exit the row— so she could walk closer. “You deserve _far _more punishment than you got— you don’t deserve to be standing here, _breathing!”_ Gil rushed after her, JT fast on his heels. She felt one of them grab her wrist again, and though this time it _did_ stop her, it didn’t stop her from speaking. Enraged tears rushed down her face as she glowered at the man that had almost taken her son away from her for good. Her next words came out through clenched teeth: “I hope you rot in _hell _for what you did to my son, you _bastard!”_

Winston blinked a couple times, regarding her blankly. His voice was just as blank when he murmured, “Jessica Whitly…” She did a small double-take. He cracked a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “He cried for you so often I feel like I _know_ you,” he said simply. Her expression twisted with even more rage; she started forward as if she was going to storm over to him, but Gil still had her wrist. He kept her planted; all she could manage was a tiny, enraged jerk. Winston’s eyes gleamed with a predatory light. She felt sick when she was reminded yet again that _these_ were the eyes her son had looked into. That he saw every night in his nightmares. “Sometimes Whitly was a tough one to crack…” he murmured thoughtfully. “But _you? _Oh _no_…if I mentioned _you…_it _always_ broke him. You or your darling daughter.”

“You did _not _break my son!” she spat at him.

“Didn’t I?” he rasped, his voice still staying low. “I read his impact statement.” She froze, her eyes widening. This got him smiling just a little again. “Can’t sleep…can’t _eat…” _She gritted her teeth, jerking forward again and yet again being held back by Gil. But by now, even Gil was bordering on the very edge of being pushed too far as he scowled at him. “He says he _still _doesn’t feel safe, even at home…” Jessica’s eyes narrowed into furious slits. “How many panic attacks does he have a day? How many nightmares does he have a night?”

She fumed, nearly red in the face with her anger. _“He is stronger than you and he is stronger than what you put him through!”_ she snarled. Winston’s eyes flashed, narrowing, at this. The guards were trying to break it up by now, trying to lead him away. He was lingering, staying still and staring at her hard as she shouted at him, _“You can’t hurt him anymore!”_

Winston sneered. “According to Whitly, I can.”

Gil let go of Jessica’s wrist, storming forward as the guards started to yank Winston back. His eyes were dark as he glowered a him, his hands shaking like it was taking everything in him not to let them fly forward and punch him in the face. His voice was acidic when he snarled at him: “His name is _Bright!”_

Winston stared at him like he’d said something absolutely stupid, before realization dawned and he cracked a smile all over again. As he was led away by the guards, Winston flung his head back and laughed, as if what Gil had said was outrageously funny. They all glared after him in pure hatred as he was led through the doors in the back of the courtroom. As they heard him continuing to laugh as he was carted away. Even _after_ he was led away, the group lingered there as if he might come back. But he didn’t.

Winston Price was _never_ going to come back. And they should have all taken solace in that.

But, standing there and staring after him, hearing his laughter echo off the walls…they didn’t.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“You’re being ridiculous— give me it. Give it here.”

_“No! _I am _working, _get out of my way!”

“I’m not _in _your way, but you _are _everywhere!”

Jessica frowned when she walked inside and heard voices— it wasn’t what she thought she would walk into. She glanced over her shoulder to look at Gil; he seemed just as confused. She was about to head down to the study when Louisa cleared up the mystery for them. She was wearing a smile and her eyes were oddly soft when she declared: “They’re in the kitchen.”

“The kitchen?” she echoed, befuddled. “He made it all the way to the _kitchen?” _

She nodded. Gil and Jessica exchanged a more startled look before they turned at the same time to rush down the hall. Their voices got louder the closer they came; Jessica’s eyes went wide when she heard Malcolm _laugh_. Nearing the kitchen, she put an arm out, slowing down and pulling Gil back with her. He got the message; together, they crept up to the doorway and peered inside, trying not to be caught.

Malcolm was sitting in a chair they’d dragged in all the way from the den. Jessica was disarmed by how bright his eyes were, and how much he was smiling. Dani was standing right beside him, holding steady a huge mixing bowl she was currently stirring in. “You’re not even paying attention to the recipe— you’re supposed to be rolling out the fondant, I don’t even see you working, over there,” she was saying.

“I only have one arm; why did you give _me_ the job of rolling out the fondant?”

“You _have_ two arms, you’re just being dramatic,” Dani said, making Malcolm snicker. “Would you rather make the frosting? Because we have to have _six _cups of sugar for that.”

_“Why _are we making a cake from _scratch?” _He reeled, as he looked all around for the sugar.

_“You _were the one that said you wanted to do something other than just sit!”

“I didn’t realize that was committing us to going full Paula Dean,” he laughed under his breath.

“Just get the sugar,” she snapped good-naturedly, suppressing her own smile. “If you _baked _as fast as you made _snide comments_, we’d have _two _cakes done by now.”

Malcolm’s smile was huge as he reached for the sugar. There was a lightness to him Jessica hadn’t seen in ages.

She wilted, seeing how much he was grinning— hearing him laugh, which was such a rarity, nowadays. She turned and glanced at Gil, her expression heavy, only to realize he was looking the exact same way. They stared at one another for a couple heartbeats, before they came to the same conclusion. They turned around and walked back the way they’d come, without being seen by either of them. They would wait. They would tell them later, after the cake was in the oven— after they laughed a little more, and smiled a little more. They left them to finish doing something simple: just baking a cake.

They left them to have fun and, for just a brief moment in time, live in a world where none of this was going on.


End file.
